


The Trekker

by catsvrsdogscatswin



Series: The "T" Saga [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 2P Hetalia, 2P!Hetalia, Alternate Nations, Gen, Graphic Violence, I'm not even going to bother tagging the 2p!s just know it's all of them they're all here, Second Players, Swearing, there's psychos and frightened teenagers of course this story has extreme swearing and violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:48:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 87
Words: 166,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22552780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catsvrsdogscatswin/pseuds/catsvrsdogscatswin
Summary: It's a tale as old as time –or at least, as old as fandoms. A real-world protagonist sucked into a reality not their own, where they indulge in the gleeful fangasm of co-habituating with said characters. Sadly for one Aryana Thompson, not only is her (accidental) exodus seemingly irreversible, but there are hints of other, much less friendly, travelers to this world…(No pairings) Theoretically able to be read as a stand-alone.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s)
Series: The "T" Saga [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1622710
Kudos: 10





	1. In Which a Faulty Spell is Used

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work switching over from my usual lurking place, FF.net, so the formatting is undoubtedly going to be kinda eh at first. AO3 is good for series stuff, though, so I suppose I may as well dip my toes in.
> 
> Apologies for the potentially irritating amount of "no pairings" repetition in the tags and whatnot, but, well, Hetalia IS a bishounen series and an original female character IS the main lead. People can, will, and do make assumptions.
> 
> Belay those assumptions! This is strictly platonic friendly bonding and asskickery here.

_Arya's POV:_

"Kick his ass America!" I yelled as I clutched a pillow to my chest. I was watching _Hetalia: Paint it, White_ for the billionth time this week. Currently the Allies and Axis were fighting the Pictonians on the deserted island.

The battered, secondhand TV stood lonely sentinel on an equally used mini table, casting light over my ancient room. Anime screenshots, fan art, and demotivationals were liberally pasted over the hideous, slightly moldering wallpaper, and the ceiling was off-white plaster. A single (somewhat broken) overhead and fan (loud and irritating), both turned off, loomed over me and my place on the bed. Various anime trinkets, occult books, small pocketknives, and rocks battled for dominion on every available flat surface, my bed included.

This was my domain from dinner to bedtime, seven days a week, 363 days a year. We spent two days away at family's on Christmas and Easter, but other than that, my family never went anywhere. (This only deepened my deep-seated belief I was dropped in a family of hicks at birth.) We lived in a large, spacious farmhouse on the remnants of what was once a prosperous farm, which now only served for horseback riding. Dad ran the biz, mom worked in town at a diner. Yes, you heard me. _In town_. We lived that far off.

Nothing grew on the farm and no animals raised their cacophonous calls, for which I was (somewhat) grateful. Occasionally I wished for a cat or a dog, but we were scraping by as it was. We weren't _poor_ per say, but we had next to no leisure money either. All my anime merchandise was preciously bought on my own (meager) income. I had turned sixteen last spring, and already had a job working in the hotel in town. Bellhops (or whatever we were called now) didn't get paid much, but it was enough for gas and a little left over.

Currently, my honey-brown eyes were intently focused on the shimmering screen, my arms crossed tightly over the plump pillow that normally served as a headrest, clutching it to my worn black tank-top, which was the top part of my pajamas. The bottoms were old army fatigues that had belonged to my dad. Believe it or not, both were pretty comfortable to sleep in. 

I sighed happily, content with the world for once. Lately, I had been feeling an…itch, so to speak. Everything was boring, I wanted something _new_. Personally, I thought it was a late teenager cycle or something. I snuggled my face against the pillow with a yawn, enjoying the now-memorized voices and lines of the _Hetalia_ cast, at least until a persistent beeping interrupted my thoughts.

I sighed and reached over, my fingers snagging the plain black phone on my bedside table. I flicked the screen, and my eyebrow rose as I saw the message from "animefreak123". We had been chatting back and forth for a few weeks now, having met on a _Hetalia_ message board.

> Hey Rye-Rye, how are things?

I absently paused the television before typing back 

> Just fine, busy watching Hetalia: Paint it, White again.

There was an oddly long pause, before he/she beeped in again.

> Hey, I found a cool "spell" on some kind of site a few days ago, wanna try? It's supposed to take you to another universe of your choosing.

I chuckled, I couldn't help it. _Well, I'm bored enough._

I typed in a quick "hang on" into my phone, then grabbed my "apocalypse bag". It contained about four or five changes of clothes, several important survival items, some books, a knife or two, a pocket mirror, and various toiletries. I had watched enough conspiracy/zombie apocalypse movies that I had a bag like this for "just in case" situations, and anyway, it didn't hurt to be prepared.

Replacing my pillow with it, I picked up my phone again. 

> Yeah sure, so are you gonna send it to me or what?

There was a long pause, then another cheerful beep. 

> Alright Rye-Rye, here ya go, and remember to call me if it doesn't work! I'll go and beat the crap out of the guys who suggested it and crushed your dreams!

This was followed by a second, much longer message, and I scrolled down, sucking in a deep breath. It seemed almost deceptively straightforward.

Five minutes later, I was dressed in a spare outdoor outfit I had for hard work, some old jeans and a dark green T-shirt, my PJs packed in the bag slung over my back, and my blonde hair tied back in a ponytail. I was standing in the middle of a traditional pentacle on the rough wooden floor of my bedroom, the _Hetalia_ DVD (not in its case) laying before me innocently. 

I considered the incantation written down on my phone nervously, feeling self-conscious. 

_If this doesn't work, I'm going to feel like the biggest idiot ever for trying it in the first place._ I thought with a hard swallow, then cleared my throat twice and spoke. 

"Santra badra winza na wonpa torana intrakantera, Santra badra winza na wonpa torana intrakantera." I recited carefully, then stood there, blushing slightly, waiting for it to work.

Nothing.

Not even a spark.

I sighed and my shoulders slumped downwards slightly. _You knew it was stupid,_ a voice in my head said gently. _But you tried anyway, so it doesn't matter._

I shook my head slightly at my folly, and reached down to pick up the DVD gently.

As soon as my fingers touched the smooth plastic, my world exploded. Vertigo spun all around me, and I tried to take in a breath to shriek, but my throat seized as I felt the very essence of my being tumbling and cascading like a river overflooded. I felt very like what Alice must have as she tumbled down the metaphorical rabbit hole. The last thought in my mind was how I was going to kill animefreak123, and then my back hit cold water and I was drowning. I thrashed and coughed, tried desperately to struggle towards the surface that was shrinking above me, but water rushed down my throat and I was weighed down by my clothes and backpack. My eyes started slipping closed, and I fought even more frantically against the pull of the water, but gravity was inevitable.

_My head was ringing. Sounds registered oddly, as if I was still lying at the bottom of the riverbed. Something was pounding on my back, but all I felt was the vibrations that told me how much force was being used. Water streamed from my nose and mouth, and I was choking and coughing, desperately trying to hack in air. Dimly I realized I was on my hands and knees, and that someone was supporting my shoulders, holding me up, at the same helping me rid the water from my lungs by pounding my back. Finally, oh God finally, I could breathe, and sound rushed in._

"-I'M REALLY REALLY SORRY TO HIT YOU NICE LADY BUT YOU WERE DROWNING AND I DON'T WANT YOU TO DROWN AND OH MY GOD GERMANY HELP MEEEEEE!"

I twitched, valiantly trying to drag my head up. _There's only one person in the world who sounds like that._

Sure enough, my watery eyes spotted an indecorous curl atop an auburn head of hair, bouncing merrily with the man's every movement. My eyes moved down to a concerned, no, panicked face, closed eyes and all. His expression rapidly turned relieved as our eyes met, though how he could see like that was beyond me. "Vee~, you're okay!" he said happily, and I smiled weakly.

"Uh, yeah. Just a bit…waterlogged." The sheer enormity of this was beyond me. I was talking to Italy. _I was talking to Italy._ He wasn't even real!

 _You know, you tried this spell with the **intention** of it working and you meeting him. You shouldn't be so surprised. _My inner, sarcastic mind-voice pointed out witheringly, and I giggled nervously.

"Sooo…what were you doing in the river?" Italy asked cheerfully, squinting at me. I blinked back, nonplussed.

 _How does he squint with his eyes closed?!_ My inner voice shrieked, and I mentally tamped it down. _Assuming it worked, and I'm pretty sure it did, I **am** in an anime. Laws of physics are kinda out of the picture._ I thought reasonably, then realized he was still waiting for me to answer his question. "I, uh, I f-fell in. Tell me, are you…Italy?" I asked, and his face brightened.

 _"Si!_ Oh goody, you know my name! We can be best friends now, yay!" Without another word, he launched himself forward and hugged me tightly as I yelped in surprise. I wasn't used to surprise hugs. Then the reality of my situation crept in again.

 _Italy, for real, legit Italy, is giving me a hug._ The innate _Hetalia_ fangirl within me took over instantly, and I hugged back gleefully with a cheer of "PASTA!"

_***Time Skip***_

"-and you can meet big brother France and Germany and Romano –oh, he's really grumpy, but hug therapy makes everyone feel better!" Italy chattered, and I nodded and contributed an occasional "hmm", or "Oh really?", and "That sounds cool" for every thirty or so words. 

Apparently I had nearly met an untimely watery demise in a river near Italy's house –in other words, in the actual country of Italy. Luckily, we had managed to recover my backpack and its contents, or I would have to borrow clothing from the perky Italian. 

_I'm glad I don't have to do that._ I thought, eyeing the figure ahead of me critically with a slight smile. _He's a lot shorter than me._ I was tall for my age, in fact… _I'm like what, five feet ten? Mathematically…wow, almost exactly 180 cms. Ha! I'm the same height as Germany!_ I thought with a grin, laughing to myself quietly.

"Hey Italy, wait up!" I said, realizing I was started to lag behind and hurrying to catch up. He waited obediently, and I suddenly realized something else as I came even. "Hey, I can crash at your place, right? I have _no idea_ where my house is." I asked him, and Italy thought for half a second, frowning slightly.

"Sure thing, my bestest best friend ever! Vee~, I can't wait to tell Romano!" he chirped almost instantly, and I sweatdropped.

"Well, if you're fine with it…" I sighed, then grinned and adjusted my backpack. "What's for dinner?"

"PAAASTAAAAAA!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-Posted: February 3, 2020, 9.00 PM USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: November 14, 2014, 9.23 PM USA Central Time


	2. In Which Training is Started

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On FF, this was the first M-rated fic I'd ever done, but I toned that down here because of the better warning and tagging system. The M was strictly for language and violence, ipso ergo, having that tag in the tags makes it less urgent to up the actual rating itself. Arya is supposed to be a mildly average teenager, and with the events I plan on throwing at her…she will have cause to swear, quite inventively. Also, as for WHY I didn't do any pairings for this particular fic, this is practice, but it's going to be FUN practice. Basically, I'm trying to develop a watertight original character by running them through several fandoms, and the best way to "cannonly" do this is to have them transported to various anime. Hence, the awkward crowbar of a plot move in the beginning, and hence, sequels to this work.

_Arya's POV:_

"Dinner's at six, and here's your room!" Italy said proudly, showing me a cute little bedroom that looked out into the garden around his villa.

 _Italy's house is just as pretty as it is in the anime._ I thought, setting my bag down, and turned towards the perky nation. "Well, I'm gonna take a shower and settle in, so to speak, so…"

He beamed and waved happily, already halfway out the door. "No worries, I'll just go say hi to Big Brother!"

He was off before I could ask if he meant France or Romano. _Well, not like it matters…too much._ I thought with a shrug, then turned to the bathroom. It was just as gorgeous as the rest of the house, and I spent at least ten minutes soaking contentedly in the tub before starting to scrub the smell of river off my poor, mauled, somewhat squishy body. I wasn't a knockout by any means, nor was I really in shape, but I flattered myself to think I wasn't too bad to look at.

Freshly cleaned, I sat down on the bed and took out my journal. Luckily, my apocalypse bag had plastic lining, so nothing important was water-damaged. Opening it to my last entry, I took out my favorite fountain pen and started.

> `Day 1, "Hetalia" Reckoning`
> 
> `(Song)Quote for the Day:`
> 
> `"Think I need a ginger ale; that was such an epic fail!" (–Song)`
> 
> `As I cannot fricking BELEIVE what just happened to me, I'm writing this down so that I can remember it forever.`
> 
> `I met Italy today. He pulled me out of a river earlier, and apparently I get to stay at his house for the foreseeable future. Check this, he's just as energetic as the anime. More so, even. His house is really pretty, and my bedroom is too. I'll describe it here for future posterity.`
> 
> `Okay, so the wallpaper is like a cream color, and the floor's mahogany or oak or a dark wood like that. Pretty solid, and not all bumpy and crooked like some of these old houses. Doesn't creak all that much except for by the window, which is huge. I have a fricking balcony coming out of it. But anyway, there's some pretty landscape pictures hanging on the walls that Italy probably painted himself when he was in his Renaissance period, and I get a personal bathroom. It's really swanky, there was perfume and stuff like that in the cupboards…which I probably won't use unless I'm going somewhere fancy. Oh, also, my bed is HUGE. I can do an X with my body and still not reach the sides.`
> 
> `Anyway, that's pretty much all my room has to offer. Italy's off visiting relatives, so I have time to muse on just what the hell I'm gonna do here.`
> 
> `I'm thinking I should maybe use this opportunity, after all, how often does one get transported to a different dimension, an anime one no less? I'll probably end up missing my family at one point…but until then, I need to do something productive. I can ask Italy about England, he knows magic. He'll probably be able to get me back. Until then…um…I guess I should make a list of things to do if England's busy, or if the spell'll take a while to reach my house, or something like that.`
> 
> `Things I Want To Do in "Hetalia": `
> 
> `Learn German –this is a chance to finish out, since I couldn't ask for a better teacher than Germany himself.`
> 
> `Learn Japanese –if this happens again, it might be in Higurashi (god forbid) or another Japanese-speaking anime, and I need to be able to communicate.`
> 
> `Learn Italian –hell, if I ask the other two, might as well ask Italy to learn his mother language.`
> 
> `Get in shape –It's one of my best chances to do so, since I can train with Germany, Italy, and Japan, all of whom I admire.`
> 
> `Learn self-defense –I can learn how to wield a katana from Japan, that'd be so badass. Maybe even ask Switzerland how to shoot a gun.`
> 
> `Learn Magic –Britain could maybe teach me a little when he's figuring out how to get me home. That would be sweet.`

Rattling footsteps alerted me to the presence of Italy in the house, and he burst through my door with a large smile plastered on his face. "Vee~! Ciao Arya, it's time to go to Germany's house!"

I raised both eyebrows. "Why?"

Italy's face fell comically. "He always makes us train and run laps and things like that, so it's no fun at all! Oh, but I get to see my other friends, so it's still a bunch of fun! Plus, Germany sounds really funny when he yells, and laughter is good for the heart!"

I grinned and closed my journal, placing it safely in my bag. "Sure, do I need to get changed for it?"

Italy cocked his head in thought. "Vee, probably. Don't worry, I'll wait for you!"

I nodded and hurried to the bathroom, dragging my work clothes with me.

_***Time Skip***_

"Again…who is this, Italy?"

One blue eye was twitching slightly as he stared at me.

"Vee~, her name's Arya, she's my new best friend!" Italy slung his arm around my neck in a comradely fashion as he spoke and gave me another hug. There was a long, somewhat stunned silence from the blond.

"…you _do_ realize we're supposed to keep our existence as countries a secret, _ja?"_ he finally sighed, looking weary. I didn't blame him; we had wasted at least ten minutes explaining that yes, I was staying at Italy's house, yes, I already knew he was the physical representation of North Italy, and yes, that there were others like him.

I saluted him clumsily. "Don't worry Mister _Deutschland,_ I'll keep it a secret."

His expression brightened somewhat. _"Sprechen sie Deutsch?"_

I smiled sheepishly. "Uh, _ja, ich kleine sprechen._ Not a lot though."

He lost the look a little, but still seemed in a slightly better mood. "Well, as Italy's no doubt told you, I'm Germany. Pleased to meet you." He held out his hand, and I took it. Germany's palm was broad and warm, covered in one of his black gloves, and I could feel the strength contained in his hand as he shook my own firmly. _I want a grip like that._ I thought with jealousy as we let go, and he turned to Italy. "So, for today-"

"Um, excuse me Mister _Deutschland?"_

He looked over his shoulder, puzzled. _"Ja?"_

I pointed to Italy. "Can I join in on the training?"

Germany considered this for a moment, then grinned.

I looked at him uneasily as the militaristically-clad blond approached. _I don't like the looks of this one little bit._ I thought with a hard swallow as he towered over me, still with the ominous grin. Despite the fact we were almost exactly the same height, he was a solid wall of muscle, whilst most of my debatable musculature was in my back and legs from living on a farm.

Trust me, it showed. I felt very intimidated and very small as I stared up ("up") at him.

"Alright, twelve laps around, GO!" Germany shouted, pointing at the track sharply. Startled, I started walking past him.

"FASTER!"

I yelped at his bellow, and broke into a light trot.

"FASTER! **GOTT VERDAMMT** , I'LL COME AFTER YOU WITH MEIN GUN IF YOU DON'T PICK UP YOUR PACE!"

I shrieked and took off, running as fast as my legs could manage.

About five minutes later, I realized that the track Italy, Japan, and Germany worked out on was a hell of a lot longer than the ones at any school I had ever attended, never mind seen. Already I was beginning to flag. Deciding a little slacking of the pace wouldn't matter, I slowed down to a brisk jog.

"OH NO YOU DON'T, MOVE IT OR LOSE IT FRAULIEIN!"

I shrieked again as a gunshot went off and a bullet _pinged_ off the ground behind me. Craning my neck, I saw Germany calmly jogging behind me, a slightly evil grin on his face. It was clear he was enjoying my struggles immensely.

Reminding myself uneasily that I wanted to get in shape, I turned around again and started to run.

_***Time Skip***_

"Heeeh…haaa…heeeh…haaa…hooo…" I panted, sweat dripping from every pore. Germany stood above me calmly, taking a long swallow from a water bottle.

 _He's evil, he's evil, he's an evil, evil demon who takes pleasure in other people's suffering…_ I thought between ragged gasps, then looked up as something cold hit my forehead and bounced away. It was another water bottle, covered in dew and obviously ice cold. I snatched it up from the dusty ground and began chugging as fast as I deemed safe: in survival movies, when the hero was trapped out in the desert or whatever, the rescuers always said it was dangerous for them to drink too fast. I sure as hell was as dehydrated as I _would_ have been if I was in a desert right now. All my moisture was dripping off my skin.

"Well, you at least have good water discipline." Germany said approvingly, and I managed to glare at him from my position hunkered on the ground, desperately swallowing water.

I finally tugged the empty bottle free and took a deep breath. "How many more of these do I have to do?" I asked, and he looked at his watch.

"Eleven. Get moving."

He held out his hand, and I considered it dubiously.

 _You know, you **wanted** to get in shape. This is really your own damn fault. Besides, it's only eleven more laps. Maybe he'll let me slow down on them. It's not like he wants to kill me._ My inner self rationalized ruthlessly, and I sighed and took his hand, letting him heave me upright. "This is going to suck, isn't it?"

Germany laughed and smacked me on the shoulder in a friendly fashion. "Look at it this way, Italy hasn't even finished his first lap. It's strange having someone who's somewhat serious about training instead." he said to me with a slight smile, and I chuckled wearily, tying my hair back in a ponytail and starting to jog. _Okay, maybe he isn't all that bad-_

"AND PICK UP THE PACE!"

Germany sucks ass.

_***Time Skip***_

I could barely think. Twelve laps in, and I was seriously sure that I was about to die. I think Germany and Italy had to physically drag me back to the picnic table where we had started, and I merely sat there now, panting hard, sweat dripping off me, and quite sure every last muscle was on fire. I had at least three stitches in both sides, and there was a cut on my lip from falling down on a rock. _Screw being in shape, this is absolutely nightmarish and I refuse to-_

"Vee~, you look tired, Arya!" Italy chirped, looking abnormally chipper.

 _Of course, **he** probably strolled the whole way._ I thought somewhat bitterly, and blinked as he nudged a rice cake over to me.

"Japan taught me how to make them! Go on and try, they're really good!"

Sighing a little, I did as I was told. It tasted sweet, and before I knew it I had eaten the whole thing.

A "thud" and an increase of weight at the table told me Germany had sat down too, and he pushed a lunchbox of various foodstuffs across to me. I saw a mixture of Italian cuisine and German food therein, and started at Germany's voice. "So, what is your full name anyway? Arya's not much to go by if you want us to find your family."

"Aryana. Aryana Thompson. Just call me Arya, or even Ari for short."

He looked pensive as he started on his own meal. "Thompson. That's a popular last name." Germany muttered, and Italy looked sad.

"Vee~, but we'll find her home eventually, right?" he asked, and I shrugged. I wasn't in much of a mood to do anything but finish this meal and then collapse. Germany looked up.

"Unless you don't want to go home?" he asked curiously, and I yawned.

"I… _ah_ , do, but…can I talk to… _mmm_ …Britain about it?" My eyelids fluttered with exhaustion, missing the covert glance both countries sent each other. Even Italy looked somewhat worried, which was uncharacteristic of him.

"You look like you're about to fall on your nose, Italy should probably get you home. We can talk about this tomorrow." Germany said with a dismissive wave of his hand, and I blindly stood, following the equally tired Italian towards the car.

Only on the ride home would I remember that he had deliberately dodged the subject.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-Posted: February 3rd, 2020, 9.50 PM, USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: November 15th, 2014, 10.01 USA Central Time


	3. In Which Italian is Learned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tweaked my own bloodline, actually, for Arya's character. I'm half German, one fourth French, one eighth Italian, and one eighth Irish. So I switched the amounts around (heck, I'm not even sure I have the right order of mine, although I know the half German part IS correct) and made it English instead of Irish, 'cause heck, its funnier that way. 
> 
> Also, hellza hard to keep up any suspense when "2p!Nations" is right there in the tags. Like I know people reading this probably saw that and signed up anyways, but like...there was suspense in the original.

_Arya's POV:_

"-OH HELL NO YOU BASTARD, GET BACK HERE!"

"Vee! ROMANO I'M SORRY, I'M SORRY! PLEASE STOP CHASING ME!"

CRASH!

THUD!

BANG!

BOOM!

"Oh, I can't _wait_ to hear the explanation for this one…" I muttered, pulling the pillow down from over my ears and glaring vaguely out the window. Looking at my beside clock, it was at least 10 in the morning, _way_ past when I'd usually get up.

Grabbing a larger pillow, I shuffled down to the kitchen, only to see the two nation brothers running in circles around the granite island counter, both screaming. Romano seemed to be the angrier of the two, whilst Italy was just trying to flee from the older Italian's wrath.

I sighed, then stepped forward and KOed them both with the pillow.

"I'M TRYING TO SLEEP, DAMNIT!"

Romano was the first to sit up, holding his head and looking angry as he pointed at me. "Listen up you little _krautlet_ , I'm not having another idiot German in the house no matter what my little brother says, so get out of the town!"

Italy sat up next to him, pouting. "Vee Romano, she's my friend!"

"I don't care about that, the potato bastard's taken over enough of my life as it is!"

"But Germany's the best-"

"OH THAT'S IT, I'M SO GONNA PUNCH YOU IN THE FACE!"

"Vee, STOP CHASING ME ROMANO!"

I sighed, watching them start up all over again. "Actually Mr. Romano, I'm half German and a fourth Italian." I pointed out as they streaked by me, and both of them comically skidded to a stop, Romano half-strangling Italy from his grip on the other Italian's collar.

"Wait, so what's the other fourth?" he asked suspiciously, and I squinted.

"Uh…one eighth French and one eighth…English?" I said slowly, squinting as I attempted to remember my family genealogy. "Yeah, one eighth French and one eighth English." 

_Yeesh. My family ancestry is two bloody yaoi pairings._ I thought with a sweatdrop, and Romano let go of Italy and resumed his ever-present scowl.

"Alright then _signora_ , you'd better hope you take after the Italian half, otherwise I'm coming to get you!" he declared, pointing to me warningly.

I deadpanned. "Duly noted."

He stalked off with his head held high, and Italy sniffed a few times, rubbing his head. "Vee~, why did you hit me?" he whimpered, and I had the decency to look ashamed.

"Sorry, but you both needed to snap out of it." I said sheepishly, and he nodded, then beamed.

"Vee~! That means you're related to Big Brother France too!" he said in excitement, and I blinked twice, then swallowed.

"Erm…yeah…I guess so." I muttered, trying to be diplomatic and not immediately freak out and run in circles in a panicked craze.

"So, wanna make pasta for br-" 

That was as far as Italy got before Romano stormed back in again, grabbed me by the elbow, and started dragging me off.

"HEY WOAH WOAH WOAH HEY! THIS IS KIDNAPPING!" I shrieked as he made it out the front door, and his equally rude answer was "You really think I care?"

Okay, I really didn't have much of an argument with that. After all, the mafia _did_ come from his part of the country.

Romano dragged me an unknown distance –apparently the fan theory that Hetalia countries were a hell of a lot stronger than normal humans was true– before he let go. The countryside had changed enough that I had no idea where I was, and he whirled to point at me in a dramatic fashion. "Alright _krautlet_ -"

"Arya."

"WHAT THE HELL EVER!" He glared at me angrily, his finger still aimed at me like the judgment of God. "YOU'RE TAKING FAR TOO MUCH AFTER THAT POTATO BASTARD, SO STARTING NOW, YOU ARE LEARNING TO BE AN ITALIAN!" he shrieked, and I raised an eyebrow.

"Pasta~…" I said in a falsely excited voice, and he glared at me even more.

"That's my stupid brother, but I suppose you get an A for effort." he growled under his breath, and I chuckled sheepishly. He cracked his knuckles, then whipped out a small pocketbook as I frowned in confusion.

 _So when he left for those couple minutes, he was getting materials?_ I thought in grudging amusement, and he clicked a pen before putting it to the paper.

"As an Italian, what's your favorite food?"

_***Montage***_

I stared at the gun he was aiming at my head. "Uh…Romano…?"

He thumbed the hammer with a squint of concentration. "Right, as an Italian, what do you do when someone's aiming a gun at you?" he asked me expectantly, and I sweatdropped.

"You're threatening to shoot me as a visual aid?"

 _Click._ "ANSWER THE DAMN QUESTION!" Romano roared as he flicked the safety back.

I smacked the gun out of my face. "I'D KICK YOUR SORRY ASS ALL THE WAY BACK TO WHEREVER YOU CAME FROM, BASTARD!" I snarled back, socking him in the face.

Romano fell back comically, blood spurting from his nose as I shrieked in surprise. _I keep forgetting how being in an anime makes everything so damn **dramatic**!_

The nation then sat up with a furious look in his amber eyes. _"TI STROZZO CON LE ME MANI SI PO KRAUTLET!"_ he roared in Italian, and I yelped as he began chasing me around the field.

"SHIT! I'M SORRY, ROMANO! I'M SORRY!"

* * *

"Britain's coming after you with an army! As an Italian, what do you do?!" Romano yelled at me as he slammed his lunch on the table in front of me, tucked into a shady corner of the garden in the back yard of Italy's large house.

I had just taken a bite of pasta, which was all Italy ever made, and quickly chewed and swallowed. "Use guerilla tactics, fade into the woods or surrounding terrain, and kick his ass. You do forget, I'm from America. We were one of the first countries to personally do so and actually succeed at it." I said flippantly, pointing my fork at him. He shrieked in rage and upended the table as I frantically starting trying to catch my flying tableware.

* * *

"DAMNIT, NO NO NO!"

I looked up as Romano rushed out from the woods and snatched up the remnants of the white flag he had given me. I had just untied the handkerchief from the stick and began trying to make fire with both, as he had dumped me in the middle of nowhere. He began reassembling it frantically, then threw it down at my feet and glared at me with murder in his eyes. "YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO SURRENDER WITH THE DAMN FLAG, NOT USE IT FOR FIRE-STARTING!" he roared, and I sweatdropped.

"Dude…there's no one around here to surrender _to_." I said, deadpan. He choked, and I watched him in bemusement as he turned to the nearest tree and began beating his head on the trunk, swearing in Italian as he did so.

_***Montage End***_

Romano sat, slumped, at the kitchen table in Italy's house, his face flat against the wood. "I give up…teaching you to be Italian is too much of a balls-suck." he groaned, and I sweatdropped.

"Dude…it's only been a week." I said slowly from across the table, writing in my journal.

"WELL ITS BEEN A VERY LONG WEEK!"

I chuckled a bit at that one, but soon looked back down as something came to me. "Hey Romano…you know, I can speak a bit of German, but no Italian."

He raised his head slightly, a very familiar gleam in his amber eyes.

I waited patiently, putting away my pen and journal as he slunk out of the room, his doom cloud momentarily lightened.

I looked at the waterproof watch I had gotten a few days ago.

_Five, four, three, two-_

The door slammed open and Romano grinned ferally. "ALRIGHT KRAUTLET, TIME TO LEARN ITALIAN!"

I chuckled a little bit. _Called it._

__

__

_3rd Person POV:_

Arya yawned, sitting up the last few minutes needed to complete the entry for that day.

> `Dear Me:`
> 
> `Day 9, "Hetalia" Reckoning`
> 
> `(Song)Quote for the Day:`
> 
> `"The grass is always greener on the other side," –Quote`
> 
> `Ugh, Italian is so much harder than German. Romano and I have been going over various nouns since dinner, and my head feels like Hungary hit me with her frying pan. I feel like I should be trying to get home more, but honestly, between Romano trying to brainwash me into being Italian and Italy trying to get me to try every kind of pasta ever made on this earth, I haven't had much time to do anything. `
> 
> `It's a bit weird, but I haven't met anyone except Romano, Italy, and Germany so far, although I think I saw Spain one time when Romano came to visit. Romano seemed to be in a big hurry to get out of the house and in a worse temper than usual, so I suppose it probably was him. I won't ask either Italy or Romano about England, since they're still both petrified of him, even if it's about fifty years after WW2, and I don't remember which other two were part of the "Magic Trio"…I think it was Romania and Norway? Either way, since I never managed to find and watch the fourth season, I wouldn't know if Norway would help me. Britain probably would…if I asked really, really nicely. He is a gentlemen after all. Can't cheat and ask wiki about character bios here either; I tried, and "Hetalia" doesn't register with anything, and the countries…well, they come up as countries. I don't know many of their human names, and can't spell most of those I do know, but when I typed those in it came up blank too.`
> 
> `The more I hang out with the Italy brothers, the more I realize how weird it is that I have Italian, German, French, and English blood. FrUK and GerIta runs through my veins, although I don't even want to guess what Romano would do if he found out about the latter. FrUK, he'd probably use as blackmail, or something equally humiliating for both. But GerIta…dear god. I don't even want to think about it. Well, that's really all; I plan to restart training with Germany sometime soon…we'll see how well that goes over with Romano. `
> 
> `Things I Want To Do in "Hetalia":`
> 
> `Learn German –this is a chance to finish out, since I couldn't ask for a better teacher than Germany himself.`
> 
> `Learn Japanese –if this happens again, it might be in Higurashi (god forbid) or another Japanese-speaking anime, and I need to be able to communicate.`
> 
> `Learn Italian –hell, if I ask the other two, might as well ask Italy to learn his mother language. (Have started.)`
> 
> `Get in shape –It's one of my best chances to do so, since I can train with Germany, Italy, and Japan, all of whom I admire. (Started, but due to Romano I haven't been able to come with Italy to Germany's house in a while.)`
> 
> `Learn self-defense –I can learn how to wield a katana from Japan, that'd be sobadass. Maybe even ask Switzerland how to shoot a gun. `
> 
> `Learn Magic –Britain could maybe teach me a little when he's figuring out how to get me home. That would be so sweet.`

She closed the book after having finished her entry, placing it on her nightstand and snuggling into the down covers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-Posted: February 4th, 2020, 2.57 PM USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: November 16th, 2014, 9.57 AM, USA Central Time


	4. In Which The Plot is Started

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, I'd felt like I was moving too fast with the plot, but honestly, there's only so much of the sweet-'n-happy I can do without getting bored.

_Arya's POV:_

Okay, this was it.

I was dead.

I darted around a corner, then plastered myself to the wall and dove inside a large group of bushes, panting hard.

 _This is the absolute worst, most horrible thing that I could ever hope for in the Hetalia universe._ I thought in terror as I began to army-crawl through the shrubbery, sweat cooling and drying on my body. _It's horrible, horrible, there is something **wrong** with that evil, damned creature-_

An ominous rustle behind me indicated pursuit, and I turned white and sped up in my army crawl. I reached the end of the bushes, and relaxed as I saw Germany yelling at Italy near the park bench where we usually met, somewhere in Munich.

Suddenly a branch broke behind me, and I froze and turned around. There he was, my archnemesis, the Evil Incarnate upon this world. I did the only reasonable thing any _Hetalia_ fan would do under the circumstances, and ran for it.

"SHIIIIT! DOITSU! FUCKING DOITSU!"

Germany turned around, and I launched myself at him and somehow monkey-climbed up to his shoulders as he shouted in surprise and staggered at my abrupt entrance, me balancing awkwardly on his shoulders as he miraculously managed to stay upright. "ARYA! _WAS ZUR HÖLLE?!"_ he bellowed, and I pointed a shaky finger at my four-legged nemesis.

"DAMNED BEAST! EVIL, VILE SON OF SATAN! BEGONE MONSTER, FOR I HAVE A GERMANY! BEGONE I SAY!" I shrieked, and both he and Italy stared in amazement as the mid-size dog wandered out from the bushes and barked at us. Germany looked up, to where I was frantically perching on his shoulders in comic anime-fashion.

"Erm…Arya…you do realize it is just a little dog, _ja?"_

I stabbed a finger venomously in the dog's direction. "NOT JUST ANY DOG, A MONSTER FROM THE PITS OF HELL!" I shrieked, shaking hard atop my reasonably safe perch.

"Vee~, but Arya, he's just a nice little poodle."

Clearly they were not getting the level of urgency here. "EXACTLY! POODLES ARE THE EVIL INCARNATE UPON THIS EARTH! THEY'RE FUZZY AND CURLY IN ALL THE WRONG PLACES AND THEY LOOK LIKE SHAVED MOPS OR AFRO MODELS, THEIR EVIL LITTLE EYES JUST STARING AT YOU FROM THEIR PLACE SUNKEN IN THEIR LITTLE MOP-HEADS!" I wailed, and Germany, with a small exercise of effort, managed to pry me from his shoulders.

"Look, just ignore him and let's get back to training." he reasoned as he put me on the ground, and I gave the poodle a deeply mistrusting look before practically sprinting off to the track.

"WHATEVER! YOU WILL LEARN TO FEAR THE EVIL, YOU WILL LEARN! FOOLS! FLY WHILE YOU STILL HAVE LEGS!"

Hey, if you went through what I did, you'd fear poodles too.

It's a _very_ long story, but the short and long of it was, when I was about eight, our farm suffered a bout of mysterious accidents. Tools misplaced, tack lost, things moved from one place to another, that sort of thing. I was convinced we had a ghost haunting us, and after much book-checking-out from the decrepit town library to learn the ghost-slaying trade, I started setting up traps. Generally, being as I was _eight_ , they fell apart before they even had a chance to catch something, but I felt better for having done it. After about two months, I finally caught –you guessed it– a small black poodle, which had been scavenging at our farm. Problem? It had rabies, and the snare was apparently _just_ loose enough for it to tug free, so when I went to check…

Yeah…

Let's just say I quickly learned just how fast I could run, and also a hell of a lot about animal safety in the following days. (Thankfully, it didn't bite me. It just scared the living shit out of me instead.) So, despite Germany and Italy's assurances to the contrary, I did _not_ believe that poodles were harmless. I remained in a sulky fume –or at least as sulkily fuming one could get when running as fast as they physically could– for two whole laps, before exhaustion wiped out all thought and I had to pay attention to where I was going, lest I slam into one of the nearby trees or faceplant on the track. Germany, the green-military-wearing demon whom I was reasonably sure wanted to kill me dead, was behind me as usual, threatening to remove large portions of my anatomy, shoot me, or otherwise render me in large amounts of pain. He even threatened me with poodles a few times, accompanied by a noticeable spurt in my speed and an increase of my sweat, as well as his evil laughter.

Twelve laps of that later, which usually took about two hours, we went on to sit-ups. He stood there with a stopwatch, his military hat askew on his head and his pale blue eyes gleaming evilly, counting off for each sit-up I did. If I attempted to cheat or messed up in my form, he'd dump his water bottle on my head and bellow out an ear-shattering correction. After about a hundred of those, I was on to push-ups. He'd count off a rhythm, usually fast and merciless, and if my arms buckled or I got out of tune he'd dump the water on my face (again!) and roar at me until I got it right. After another hundred of those, I had to do pull-ups. He'd wait, like an evil, buff vulture, as I struggled to pull my chin over that metal bar, grinning madly to himself and scolding whenever I missed or failed to get my chin up to the specified line. He'd only make me do fifty of those, and then, thank God, it was time for lunch.

Much to my surprise, Germany was actually rather decent, but only when he was _not_ training. _Then_ , the demon came out, and it was merciless. But when not training, he was actually a pretty decent guy. He'd quiz me on German pronunciation between bites, and slowly, what little I knew of the language expanded to the point I was comfortable speaking short conversations in it. He also explained the reason that Japan hadn't showed up since I came was that his country had slightly below-par economy right now, meaning Japan had the country equivalent of a cold. It wasn't _contagious_ , per say, but Japan stayed home anyway, and nobody minded much. Much to my pleasure and slight surprise, one day when he told me to I flex my bicep to see what his training had done for me, I actually had muscle definition! I wasn't _ripped_ , but I actually had _muscle!_ I'd immediately challenged him to an arm-wrestling match, and, perhaps predictably, he had almost instantly wiped the floor with me. My only consolation was that, for the split second as what felt like the weight of an entire mountain came to bear against my arm, I actually managed to slow him down.

"Hey _Deutschland?"_ I asked as I took a bite of my sandwich. It was a sunny day in Munich, about a month or so after I had been sucked into _Hetalia. "Ich habe eine Frage."_

He looked up. _"Ja?"_

Italy was playing with the brown cat he sometimes had in the series, the one he dragged onto the Pictonian's ship with him, about fifty feet away in the meadow that the track circled. I cradled my chin and watched him as I continued eating absently. "Why is it that not a lot of countries are visiting? I mean, I know it's after WW2, but still…" I asked, looking at Germany askance, before glancing back to Italy. When I looked back to Germany, I was surprised to see that the look on his face was faintly alarmed. _"Was ist das?"_ I asked in surprise, knowing he would be more likely to respond if I used German, his language.

Germany sucked in a slow breath, taking off his cap and running a hand through his hair. By the time he replaced it, I was seriously alarmed. He tugged his cap straight, then looked at me piercingly. "Arya, have you noticed that Italy and his brother don't get much visitors?"

That seemed like a repetition of my own question, but now that I thought of it… "No, they don't get any visitors. Like, none." I answered in confusion, and he nodded.

"But do they visit anyone, aside from me?"

I opened my mouth, but realized…I had no idea. Italy sometimes talked about visiting one or another of his "big brothers", but that could have easily been Romano, and since he had never _mentioned_ which one… "I don't… _think_ …so." I said slowly, something hard and cold settling in my center.

Germany nodded and packed up the lunchbox Italy had given him. "Something, some kind of disease, has been spreading from country to country. They get…strange, they vanish, but they always come back, and when they do, they don't remember a thing. Sometimes they can remember feeling strange when the others noticed them acting oddly, but more often than not, they can't." he explained solemnly, and the pieces clicked suddenly.

"Japan?!"

"He says he had been feeling strange lately, and thought it best that he stay away from us, in case he spread this –thing– to us."

Germany looked worried, and I didn't blame him; one of his friends had some kind of weird amnesia disease, and who _knew_ what happened when they disappeared?! Sure, they seemed fine when they got back, but it could be something awful! I swallowed hard and gathered my lunchbox up. "So…is anyone like, disappeared now?" I asked nervously.

He looked around, his tense stance relaxing slightly as he saw Italy. "Britain was one of the first to get it, and he's missing right now. Spain disappeared too. Everyone else is either just back from a disappearance, or anxiously staying at home and _hoping_ they don't get it." he said disdainfully, and I bit my lip and nodded, sympathizing with his obvious agony. Germany didn't _like_ sitting at home and waiting, and yet in this situation, there was nothing for him to do but protect the ones close to him as best he could, and _pray_ they didn't catch this, this whatever-it-was.

There was almost literally nothing for him, for _any_ of us, to do except sit and wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-Posted: February 4th, 2020, 3.09 PM USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: November 17th, 2014, 8.03 AM, USA Central Time


	5. In Which There is a Car Chase

_Arya's POV:_

Italy was babbling happily beside me and still cuddling the small brown cat, while my hands were firmly on the driving wheel. I was lost in thought, chewing my lip as I worried over what Germany had told me. _Countries acting strangely…disappearing…then reappearing with no memories of the previous events…_

"Hey Italy?" I asked slowly, and he blinked and stopped cooing over his cat.

"Vee, what is it Arya?" he asked cheerily.

I looked out at the road. "Well…it's about the countries disappearing."

He froze, and I saw the familiar expression of panic on his face. "Vee~! Arya, that's scary! Let's not talk about it, okay?!" he squeaked, shivering hard.

I sighed. "Yeah…I guess. Do, um, do you think normal people can get it?" I asked with a thick swallow, and Italy squinted in confusion.

"Vee…I don't think so. We don't hang out with normal people that much, so I don't think they would catch it anyways."

 _Which means absolutely nothing as far as I'm concerned._ I thought sourly, and blinked as I realized we were on Italy's front drive. Seemingly, having a country in the car or somehow nearby when you traveled made the distances that much shorter. (Another fan headcanon confirmed.)

I pulled up and we both got out, and I sighed as Romano stormed out of the house and made his way to the driver's seat.

"Keys." he said demandingly, and I tossed him the ring with a small Italian flag before walking around the car and sliding into the passenger's seat. Italy promptly went inside the house to eat pasta, or paint, or whatever it was that he did when we went out.

Romano jerked the car around with an angry motion, and I twiddled my thumbs absently, wondering if he would be a "safe" person to broach the subject too. "Um…Romano?"

"What?!"

 _Jeez, who put a bee in his bonnet?_ I thought sullenly, then coughed once. "Um, Germany told me about the whole disappearance thing."

He shrugged sourly. "Why should I care about that potato bastard?" he grumbled under his breath, turning another sharp right as I belatedly clutched the edges of my seat.

"Whoa dude! Don't crash us, I can't survive that!" I yelped and he glared at me savagely as he hung another sudden turn. "Uh…Romano?"

He didn't answer, and by now I was getting worried. I twisted to look over my seat to see another car, and sure enough, as Romano made several more savage turns, it followed us with equal verve. "We're being followed, aren't we?" I asked with a sort of numb acceptance.

"You bet your ass we are. Sit down before they see you." he grunted, grabbing me by the elbow and pulling. I sat, my thoughts running in hundreds of different directions at once.

"Why are they chasing us?!" I squeaked in panic as I clung to my seat.

Romano turned us sharply, using both hands on the wheel. "How the hell should I know?!"

_This isn't good._

"Can't we like abandon the car in an alley somewhere and run for it?" I asked desperately, and he snorted.

"Running is for little _bambinos!"_ he retorted, and I glanced in the side mirror.

"They're catching up."

A trickle of nervous sweat ran down Romano's jaw. "Hey, I've got an idea. Why don't we ditch this rustbucket and run for it?" he said shakily, and I sweatdropped.

 _Damn cowardly Italian stereotype…_ I thought with a sigh, then scanned the crowded road and pointed out an alley ahead of us. "Does that alleyway lead somewhere, or is it a dead end?"

He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them. " _Si_ , it leads to some other alleys and a road. Why?"

I glanced behind us again. The black car following us was getting closer, close enough that I could see the outlines of the people inside. "Because when we come even with it, you're going to pull up suddenly and run inside."

He glanced at me suspiciously. "And what about _you?"_ he asked. I could see a flicker of worry in his eyes and smiled a little nervously.

"I'm going to open my door and run in the opposite direction. It'll give them two targets, if they're after both of us. Where are we?"

He sped up slightly, the alleyway coming closer and closer. "Naples. Why?"

I thought quickly. "What's the most famous tourist spot here?"

He gave me a deeply offended glare. "YOU'RE TELLING ME YOU DON'T KNOW?!"

I coughed pointedly. "I _am_ American."

He sighed and braced himself, preparing to brake. " _Castel Nuovo_. Let me guess, we're meeting there when we lose 'em?"

I nodded and did the same, leaning back into my seat and jamming my shoes against the floor. "Yup."

Romano gave me a cocky salute. "Then see you there, _fanciulla_."

Then everything happened all at once. Romano slammed on the brakes, and I felt my seatbelt carve into my torso as we lurched forward, and then I was unbuckling myself and Romano was already gone and I was darting out onto the street and I saw several someones in dark outfits run towards him–

As I began running, listening for pursuit, I realized something startling.

 _They aren't following me. Why aren't they following me?_ I thought in surprise, looking behind me to see an empty street. The answer seemed obvious.

 _Because, for whatever reason, they're going after Romano instead._ I thought with gritted teeth, then skidded to a stop. "Damnit!" I snarled, punching the dirty brick wall.

 _I hate my sense of loyalty._ I thought with a weary sigh, turning back towards the street where we'd left our car. Before the sane, rational part of my brain could protest, I was climbing up onto the flat roof of one of the buildings lining the alley and running after him. _This is insane!_ I thought as I ran, heart pounding in my chest.

Before long, I came to a crossroads, and luckily, I saw several people chasing after something –almost certainly a grumpy Italian personification– on the left side. I turned that way and ran after them, eventually drawing away from the brink as I grew near, then passed them. I did _not_ want to meet up with these people, whoever they were.

I blinked as I saw Romano's familiar brunette head of hair below me, and he took a sharp left –right into a dead-end alley. He screamed a curse in frustration, but I saw an opportunity to lose our pursuers. _"Psst!_ Romano!" I whisper-yelled down, and he looked up. I crouched and offered my hand: without hesitation, he jumped onto a dumpster and took it, and I frantically began trying to haul him up, hearing the sounds pounding feet getting closer and closer. He was too heavy, he was too heavy, oh my god, he was too heavy-

With a burst of strength only panic could give, I hauled Romano completely over the edge just as the pounding steps reached the alleyway. We lay there, side by side, Romano panting heavily as I did the same, both of us trying to be quiet. Our feet were mere inches away from the brink, and luckily (hopefully!) out of sight.

Panting somewhat under control, I held a finger to my lips as he nodded empathically. Neither of us could make a sound, or they'd find us instantly.

There was a muttered curse below us, and I heard a wrenching _screech_ as they slammed open the dumpster Romano had stood on to try and get up, and they began to search through it. Romano looked terrified, and I didn't blame him. I was about ready to piss myself, and they weren't even after _me_.

I put my finger to my lips again, making frantic motions to imply silence, and slowly, carefully, began to army-crawl away from the lip of the roof. After a brief second, I heard the tiny rustle of clothes-on-concrete that was Romano following, easily covered by the rapidly escalating Italian curses and searching sounds below and behind us.

Once we had gotten far enough away, without a word, we both stood and ran out of there like a full pack of Germanys in his worst training-mode ever were following us.

_***Time Skip***_

"You cannot seriously be telling me that there would be no reason for someone to come after you." I said in disbelief as we drove home, putting a Band-Aid on the elbow I had scraped when pulling him up.

"It's the truth!" Romano snapped anxiously, his face still slightly pale, but having regained his usual bad-tempered expression. "I dunno who they were or why they were coming after me, so you'd better believe it, _krautlet!"_

I sighed and conceded the point. We had both been rattled, and snapping at each other wasn't going to help. "Sorry dude, but the way they went after us really says "angry mobsters". And it had to have been something you did, 'cause when we split up all three of them went after _you_ instead of me. I mean, unless they didn't know you were a country, which is a whole other argument, I would have been the better target. I'm young, female, and I obviously had no idea where I was going." I pointed out as we approached Italy's house, and he nodded stiffly.

"Which means they either knew about me being a country or they were after me for some specific reason…" he murmured ominously as we pulled up, and I sighed and unbuckled my seatbelt.

"Italy! I'm home!" I called as I entered the villa, watching Romano go to his own car and pull out again, heading towards the south of the country. I put the car keys in the little dish we used to hold them, and blinked in surprise as Italy stumbled down the stairs, yawning.

"Vee~! Morning…Arya." he slurred, rubbing one eye.

I smiled at him nervously. "Hey. Me and Romano had an exciting afternoon, how about you?"

He smiled somewhat sleepily. "Vee, me? I was painting and fell asleep, so I didn't do anything this afternoon!" he chuckled, and I nodded and passed him as he headed to the kitchen, humming happily.

I paused on the first stair.

 _Wait…isn't Italy's painting room on the first floor?_ I thought as I frowned, looking over my shoulder. Italy was happily flitting around the kitchen, regaining more and more of his energy with every step. I smiled and chuckled to myself.

 _Jeez, stop being so paranoid. He probably went upstairs afterward to hang it up or something._ I thought reasonably, then went upstairs to take a nice long shower. I deserved it after all this madness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-Posted: February 4th, 2020, 3.17 PM USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: November 18th, 2014, 8.06 AM, USA Central Time


	6. In Which a Clue is Found

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also to anyone leaving any comments or kudos or whatnot, again, there's a learning curve here so its going to take me a bit to learn how to see and answer and whatnot.

_Arya's POV:_

I pressed myself up against the old brick wall, my heart pounding against my ribs.

 _How the hell do I keep finding myself in these situations!?_ I screamed to myself with a sort of dizzy terror, taking in a deliberately long, and more importantly _silent_ breath through my nose to try and calm myself down.

I was wedged between an old metal dumpster and the building it was collecting scraps for, listening to the whispered conversation in the alleyway ahead of me. Most of it was in a language that I didn't know, but I caught more-than-frequent scraps of Italian words that I _did_ know, and it didn't take Einstein to figure out that whoever they were, these guys were most likely the guys that had chased and nearly run down me and Romano yesterday. I didn't dare move, and I hardly dared to breathe; because the first thing that they had done upon entering the alleyway was scare the bum out, and from what I had heard, one of them had used some kind of flick-knife or something equally dangerous to do the intimidation.

How did I find myself in this damning situation? Well, it started with Italy going into town to buy some more paints. Even though I was more than a bit afraid of venturing out into the big wide world after what had happened with me and Romano, my fears were also a good reason to _accompany_ Italy, in case the same thing happened to him. God knows what they'd do when they caught him, as they undoubtedly would if he was alone.

Thus, I tagged along. Italy certainly didn't mind, chattering about this and that as he happily drove along, with absolutely no care nor concern for pedestrians and other cars. The other cars on the street were doing the same, and as I watched them swerve around the sidewalk and each other I realized why Romano's frantic driving hadn't gone amiss yesterday: hell, it was more relaxed than some of the maneuvers these people were trying and –miraculously– pulling off.

Once we had arrived outside the art shop, Italy had parked the car and happily flitted inside the shop. I had _planned_ to sit in the car and watch for suspicious arrivals, but it suddenly occurred to me, that if they had known Romano's favored route to wherever the hell he took me to learn Italian, they might know Italy's favorite paint shop and set up to wait for him there, while I sat outside, completely clueless to whatever the hell they were doing to the poor nation.

After that cozy little thought, I quickly unbuckled myself and kicked the car door open, ducking through the shop door swiftly and looking around for Italy. There were aisles upon aisles of art supplies, and I thought I saw his familiar curl bouncing happily along one of the farthest ones. I began to follow, trying to look all around me without _looking_ like I was searching for trouble, and was soon rewarded by my caution.

Firm footsteps sounded on the tiled floor; they sounded eerily similar to another set I had heard yesterday, but slower, more relaxed.

 _Well, it's not like he's chasing anyone **now**._ I thought savagely, and froze when I realized they were behind me. I whipped around, but to my immense relief, I saw a tan hat moving towards the entrance –the shelves blocked out anything below that, which, while keeping me from being spotted, also benefited him in the same way. I began to quietly follow, and the door opened and closed with a tinkle. I had just enough time to glimpse dark brown hair and a brown-tan outfit before he half-turned and I had to duck out of sight again. I was cautious as I opened the door myself, but it seemed he had kept walking. I anxiously scanned the crowd. _Now, where the hell is he…_

__

__

_Found him._

Just as I spotted his shock of dark brown hair with the distinctive cap, my man stepped inside another random Italian alleyway and was lost to sight. I swallowed hard and silently moved across the street, dodging several wayward cars (which did not help the nerve-wracking tension filling my body), and finally made it to the other side. I had just enough time to scoot preemptively behind a dumpster before a man with somewhat grungy clothes tumbled past, clutching a long, bleeding slash on his cheek.

I went cold, and quickly wedged myself further into the small space as I heard something angrily shouted in Italian, probably a variant of _"And **stay** out!"_ from the alley behind me. There was a chuckle, and the familiar bootsteps moved back into the shadow of the buildings.

"Was that really necessary, Luciano?" a male voice sighed in English. He had some kind of Mediterranean accent, but I wasn't sure if it was Italian or not.

There was another evil little chuckle from the apparently-named _Luciano_. "Nah, but it was fun." he said in a slightly pronounced Italian accent. His voice was a bit more modulated than the others, but also slightly lighter. One of them rustled, as if they were shifting.

"Where's Flavio?" the unknown first voice asked, and Luciano made an angry "tch" sound.

"Why do we even need the _stupide_ anyway?!" he snarled, and the other one made an amused sound.

"We don't _need_ him, but if we want to continue doing this quietly, he is imperative." he pointed out, and Luciano angrily kicked a rock. It skittered against my hiding place and I had to stifle a jump of fright. _That would get you caught for sure, and then where would you be? This Luciano dude doesn't sound friendly._ I thought to myself, swallowing hard.

Luciano obviously didn't care for this argument. "Flavio's useless. I'm telling you, if we just got Lut-"

The other made an angry hushing sound. "How many times have I told you, Luciano?! Even if we did… _convince_ him, he'd make a wildly unpredictable ally! I don't care that he's your personal attack dog: we're doing this like _he_ told us; slow, quiet, and completely secret. If we take the other, we take him _last_."

Luciano muttered something angrily in Italian, and the other sighed in agreement. "I know you don't like this, but it's the best we can do." he reasoned, and Luciano began flicking something metal-sounding back and forth. _Is that a knife?_ I thought with a cold trickle of sweat, drawing in another slow, deliberate breath. It did me no good at all: I was still close to panicking.

There was a long silence as Luciano played with his knife, and suddenly I heard him say "She'll be expecting me back soon." in a sulky undertone.

The other one chuckled. "Think of it this way; once you tire of her, you can use those knives you're so fond of…without restraint. No one will miss someone like _her_." he said with a malicious, callous joy that made chills creep up and down my spine.

Luciano snickered one last time, and I heard a _click_ as he stowed his knife and his boots began to move back towards the entrance to the alley. The other waited a moment, perhaps to allay suspicions if someone had seen Luciano leave, and left as well. I waited another minute for my own self, then crept out of the alley, darted across the street, and hurriedly buckled myself into the car, just as Italy cheerfully made his way out of the shop, several paint cans and brushes in his arms.

He dumped them all in the backseat, then closed the door and skipped up to the driver's seat, opening and closing the door and buckling himself in.

"Vee~ Arya, sorry I took so long!" Italy chirped as he began pulling out, and I smiled nauseously.

"Hardly noticed you were gone, dude."

_***Time Skip***_

We pulled up the long gravel driveway, and the cold knot in my chest relaxed as I saw the familiar, safe outline of Italy's house. "Want me to help get your stuff in?" I asked as I unbuckled my seatbelt, being the good guest, and Italy beamed happily.

"Vee~, sure! And I'll make pasta for dinner!"

I sweatdropped. "Can it be Alfredo at least?"

Italy considered it for about half a second, then beamed. "Vee~, of course! Coming right up!" he called as he skipped up the drive, and I sighed and shook my head fondly as I moved to the backseat of the car.

As I began bundling up the paintbrushes, I noticed something out of place amongst the paint cans, some weirdly shaped tool or item. I frowned and put the brushes down, reaching for it and moving the cans aside.

Something seized in my throat as I put the last can aside and the object gleamed in the sunlight. It was well-worn. Dark black handle with some polished, smoothed-over nicks on it. Silver chasing in filigree patterns. Obviously very beloved. This was all very well and good if one was discussing a lighter or pen, but what was gleaming so innocently in the afternoon sunlight was, in fact, a folding knife. With trembling fingers, I reached down and picked it up. After a bit of fumbling, I found the catch, and with a disturbingly familiar _click_ , a razor-sharp blade flicked out into the afternoon sun. There were still some very faint traces of crimson around one edge. Suddenly, everything made too much sense.

_Countries getting strange mood swings and disappearing. The name "Luciano" given to an Italian man who loves knives, who has dark brown hair, and who wears a tan military hat. I never saw his face or his eyes, t-that's why he didn't seem familiar. Dear god, this isn't some strange amnesia disease, this is…this is…!_

Something inside me went cold. _Britain. Britain was the first to get the "disease". According to the most popular lore I know, which one of them knows the most about magic? Which one is the most well-known of them all? Which one is the most ruthless? Which one would be able to come up with a plan to get them all into this "world" without the originals noticing?_

My terrified musings were cut short by a familiar cry.

"Vee~, Arya! Come on inside already, stop fooling around with my paintbrushes, silly~! I can teach you to paint after we eat pastaaaa~!" Italy called happily from the kitchen window, and I looked up and managed to form a smile.

"Sorry Italy, they just feel really soft! I'm coming!" I called back, then watched him close the window. I quickly folded the knife back in and set it down, brushing it carelessly to the floor to make sure it seemed like no one had touched it. I quickly gathered up Italy's art supplies, a steady sinking making itself known in my chest.

_If what's been going on supports my conclusions –which it does– then that means they know everything the originals do. Fucking hell…I can't even trust Italy any more!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-Posted: February 4th, 2020, 3.00 PM USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: November 19th, 2014, 8.16 USA Central Time


	7. In Which Things are Coming Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's hard keeping Romano in character, because poor Arya needs an ally at this point, but since he's a total scaredycat like his brother (he just acts tough) he wouldn't really make a good one. However, at this point, she's taking what she can get whilst I attempt to keep him in his sort of "I'm scared out of my wits, but I still have to act like a man and tough it out" attitude that he'd most likely adopt in this situation…at least until he got desperate and started running away.

Arya's POV:

> `Day 32, "Hetalia" Reckoning`
> 
> `(Song)Quote for the Day:`
> 
> `"Appearances can be deceiving." –Quote`
> 
> `Now that I'm reasonably certain of what's been going on, I'm going to start hiding this diary. No, scratch that, I'm not just going to hide it, I'm going to find a lock and lock it. If my suspicions are correct, however, that probably won't do much against these guys. I wish I could ask Britain or one of the other Magic Trio for a spell to keep it from being opened or something, but I somehow doubt anything from Britain is trustworthy now, not to mention they've probably "acquired" the other two from the Magic Trio as well, to keep someone from doing anything if they do find out.`
> 
> `Speaking of, their activities seem to be on the down low so far, probably because they can't afford to get caught…which raises another question. Why can't they get caught? Why are they being so damned cautious? If anything is to be learned from the anime, all the Hetalia characters tend more towards the comedic than the militaristic, and since my experiences here seem to bear up with that being mostly true, and since these guys were created and specifically "altered" to be murderers and psychopaths, in terms of a straight-out fight, sadly my money would be on the doubles instead of the originals…which probably means it isn't a question of actual, physical confrontation. If so, what is the problem?`
> 
> `Well, in a lot of the fanfictions, it's a matter of taking the countries by surprise, or by subterfuge on the doubles' parts, so possession must be difficult…? That might be it: if the victim is aware of what's going on, it might tip the scales just the little bit they needed to stay in control, and then if they told others about it, they could organize and figure out some way to prevent it from happening…`
> 
> `Yeah, that's probably why they're being so sneaky. Also, they seem to need the actual country in a ritual or area or something to be able to take over, since they chased after Romano with the intention to capture him, and since Romano hasn't been acting weird, his double must be relatively weak and needs help to take over…`
> 
> `Which leads me to another thing. The 2p!s aren't even cannon! What the hell are they doing here?! They shouldn't even exist at all!`
> 
> `But…I am in a Japanese anime world. The Hetalia "universe" isn't supposed to exist either, and yet here I am. I suppose this could mean that all these fictional worlds do exist, even the ones that were added on by fans or something like that, they're just not connected…You know, that makes more sense than I should credit myself for. But it does seem logical, and since most of the fanfictions I've read about them define the doubles as murderous, psychopathic, and ruthless, as well as desperate to take over their originals for one reason or another, that would give them an excellent motive for being here now.`
> 
> `The only question would be how…`
> 
> `Britain could've been experimenting with weird magic, I guess, and his 2p influenced him towards a world-transport spell or another summoning spell gone wrong, then quickly took over when he wasn't expecting it…and after that it'd be child's play to help the others over…`
> 
> `But I don't think that's likely: Britain would probably be prepared for something just like that, if not his 2p specifically, when he was trying a spell to link dimensions together or whatever. That sort of thing can be very dangerous without murderous doubles, and he's been a magician long enough he probably knows that. So, that leaves either brute force or something else weakening the barrier or what-have-you keeping the worlds apart…`
> 
> `Something like someone from neither world suddenly dropping in out of nowhere on the wings of a badly worked spell…`
> 
> `No, Germany said this started a few months before I zapped myself here; so it's not my fault. Thank god for th-`

My musings were interrupted by Romano slamming the door open and glaring at me. "Are you going to write in your diary all day like a schoolgirl, or come with me and learn some more Italian?! Come on _krautlet_ , time's a-wasting!" he barked, and I frowned and closed my journal with a sigh.

I followed Romano outside to his black car and got in, my mind spinning with a dangerous new idea. 

_If what I remember about his 2p is correct, he's more of a fashionista than a killer…and I do need an ally. I'm under no illusions here; I'm a sixteen year old American with okay-ish strength and coordination against god-knows-how-old psychopathic country representations, all of whom could easily overpower me single-handedly, some of which know magic, and most of which know how to use a blade or some other, equally deadly, weapon. Even if Romano's Italian, he's a country and he's the best I'm going to get for right now. Despite what they said about Germany, I don't trust him being able to hold out against Lutz, especially if he knew what I was planning. I don't know if they just sort of automatically assimilate knowledge of their 1p!s when they take over, or if they're in a state of constant mind-meld and just know. I live in the same goddamned house as 2p!Italy, I am not letting them know I'm onto them. I wouldn't even survive the night._

"Hey Romano, you know about those guys that chased us yesterday?" I asked after a slow, deep breath, and he looked at me askance.

"Why the hell do you want to talk about them!?" he snapped, and I swallowed hard.

"I-I think they're connected to the disappearances and the amnesia and…stuff." I said lamely, looking down at my lap as I twiddled my thumbs, and he gave me a sharp look out of one amber eye.

"You know something." he said. It was more of a statement than a question, so I didn't bother nodding.

"I suspect something, and I have enough circumstantial evidence to give me reason to believe I'm right." I said briskly, and he nodded slowly, looking back at the road.

"Well, now's the best time to say it without being listened in on, and it's not like I can ignore the fact someone attacked me in my own damn country. Tell me everything you know, _krautlet_."

And so I did. I left out the information about me being from a different dimension, phrasing my knowledge in the form of an urban legend I had heard about "personified countries" and the fact they had "second players", their evil alternate versions, and some vague descriptions of the more well-known ones, as well as the fact that the doubles looked eerily like their originals. He began to sweat a bit at that, and I continued, telling him about what I had overheard in the alley yesterday, as well as the knife that had been either carelessly dropped or misplaced amongst the original Italy's paint supplies. By the time I was ending, Romano's face was white and he was sweating profusely.

"-and the fact that the other countries are separating due to the fear of catching this "disease" is working in their favor. They can take down whoever they want, and as long as they do it quietly and give the target country time to say that they're feeling weird, the others will give them a wide berth and be unlikely to visit. So…what do you think?" I asked, reaching down to take a swallow of the water by my feet. I hadn't spoken this much all at once in a long time.

Romano swallowed several times, his hands tight on the steering wheel. "I'm very sorry you showed up, _signora_." he croaked, wiping a trickle of sweat from his face. "It would have been a lot better to just not know this in the first place."

I shrugged sheepishly. "Sorry man…trust me, I honestly would have preferred this to be an _actual_ amnesia epidemic, or something like that. So you believe me?"

He sighed and leaned back, piloting the car with just one hand. "It makes too much sense to be coincidence, not to mention one of those bastards yesterday did look a lot like my _stupido_ brother…just…different." Romano shuddered, looking even more ashen, although he kept his "tough guy" façade up. I nodded sympathetically.

"Supposedly, these doubles are the summation of all the bad things their originals did in the course of being a country, or are the negative thoughts they have, or their polar opposites, or, you know, something like that. I don't really remember." I said apologetically. 

_And there isn't a "one true thing" for the 2p!s anyway. It's all fan theories, so even the same characters are all wildly different depending on who they are being written by or thought of._ I added silently.

Romano swore and hit the dashboard. "So we have no idea how to fight these bastards?!"

I bit my lip, thinking, and slowly shook my head. "I don't really know. Probably not without England's expertise, or one of the other Magic Trio…and we can't even go out asking about it, because I don't know if these doubles can automatically read the minds of their originals, or they just find out when they take over, and I'm _not_ taking the chance. I live with one, don't forget. Italy's already been taken over at least twice, and he didn't even notice it."

Romano nodded with a sort of savage amusement. "And we really don't want the first sign of them being onto us to be a knife in your back, _si?"_ he snorted, and I shook my head vigorously.

"Hell no."

He considered the road ahead of us. "So…that leaves us to figure it out on our own. Any excuses to offer to my dumbass brother and the potato bastard?"

I turned and looked at him strangely. "What? _Why?"_

He gave me a withering look. "We go and find some of the _idiotas_ who got themselves taken over, and _watch_ them like hell. We'll at least get a clue on what they're planning, if not on how to change them back." he said with his usual bite, and I blinked twice.

_That's…actually pretty smart._

I took out my cellphone, the same one which had delivered the fateful message that had landed me in this mess. "I can call Italy and say you're taking me on a round trip of the country to educate me on your culture?" I suggested hesitantly, looking up at him. Romano considered it for a second.

"What about your stuff?" he asked slowly, and I frowned.

"I guess we could double back and get it. I can ask Italy to pack it for me-"

He instantly shook his head. "Bad idea. Who knows what that double could slip in while we weren't around."

I bit my lip. _Damnit, he has a good point._ I thought in frustration, then blew out. "Well, I guess I can just figure it out later."

I moved my thumbs over the keypad, then held the phone to my ear and waited for it to pick up. About two rings later, I heard Italy's cheerful voice.

_"Vee~ Arya, what's up?"_

I crossed my fingers for good luck as I began speaking. "Well, um, Romano's kinda offered/demanded to take me around Italy to help me learn your guys' culture, so…I might be gone for the next few weeks. Is my stuff mostly packed?"

There was a moment of silence, and then he spoke again. _"Why are you going without me?"_ he asked, and Romano and I exchanged sharp glances. Italy's voice, his actual, physical voice, hadn't changed, but he… _sounded_ different. He didn't have _quite_ the right cheery inflections or the _exact_ bubbly pronunciation, and the question was _very_ out of character for him.

This was where several years of working a cheap backwater hotel came in handy; the number of married men with mistresses was surprisingly high, as were the drug deals, prostitution exchanges, and otherwise I-don't-want-to-knows, and tongue-in-cheek lying on the fly became an integral part of our job. But never anything this _big_ , this personally life-threatening. It was mostly just a smile-and-nod routine on the rare occasions someone asked after someone else that really shouldn't be renting from our facilities.

"Well, someone's got to hold down the fort with Germany: he's worried sick, what with all this amnesia stuff going around." _Keep it simple, don't shy away from subjects, especially if they have reason to suspect you're hiding something to do with those subjects. Answer quickly, but not too quickly. Don't hesitate. Most importantly, include a small grain of truth in the lie to make it believable._ "You're the best one for the job after all, you're his best friend, and Japan's out sick. You can do that, right?"

There was a tense moment of silence from our end, then Italy's normal happy voice came through the other end. _"Vee~, of course! You can count on me Arya, I'll make sure that meanie Germany doesn't do anything dangerous! Who knows, maybe he won't even make me run around in circles anymore!"_

I forced a chuckle out. "I highly doubt it. Bye!"

We both clicked out, and I immediately let out a sigh and closed my phone, slumping back against the seat.

"That was stressful."

Romano nodded as he turned us around, also sweating profusely. "That wasn't my brother –well, that wasn't _just_ him." he croaked, and I nodded rapidly.

"At this point, I think my suspicions are pretty much confirmed." I said fearfully, and he gave a terse nod of agreement.

"Hell yes they are. That phone call would've convinced me anyway –my brother just doesn't _sound like that_." Romano said with great feeling, and I shuddered along with him. There was just a sense of something _wrong_ whenever we heard a 2p speak, even through their original: as if their very voices carried some of their psychotic, evil taint. Well, now that we knew what something was going on, all we had to do was stop them.

Hehe.

_All._

I sighed and let my forehead thunk against the dashboard.

_We're fucked._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-Posted: February 4th, 2020, 6.36 PM USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: N/A


	8. In Which Arya and Romano Arrive

_Arya's POV:_

I had agreed to Romano's plan with very little forethought of my own –in retrospect, I'd just assumed that we'd "go over to the infected countries", have a look around, and then be back in Italy before dinner, but on _Romano's_ side of the country. The bonus of that "plan" was that we'd actually be where the Second Players _expected_ us to be, in case they had a watch on us or something equally plan-compromising.

What the plan entailed, in reality, was going to an Italian airport in Romano's country, checking in under fake passports –I wasn't going to ask where he got them– that renamed us as "Felix" Vargas and "Ari" Thompson. My last name was generic enough that he didn't have to change it, and apparently the same went for his own, at least in Italy. The so-called Felix and Ari were cousins, me from America and him from (obviously) Italy, and we were both going to Japan for a tour on…something. He just grunted when I asked him what our excuse was, but I assumed it was as solid as the rest of his solid, if not brilliant, plan. _I_ certainly couldn't think of anything better; and I certainly differed to him in matters of being sneaky. Bellhop lying could only get one so far, especially when there was an almost scripted reply amongst our ranks that you learned for most inquires.

But anyway, the plan _I_ had thought of when Romano had mentioned this earlier was certainly _not_ staring out the window of a plane for around twelve hours while he, comfortably slouched in his seat, snored his head off. Apparently whatever made travel super-fast when with a country was at least partially negated when they were not doing the driving and in the air, nor in any great hurry themselves. It was extremely vexing, especially when I had nothing to do but write in my journal, being as most of my books were at Italy's house. My nerves were slightly on edge as well, since my family's apathetic nature meant I had never flown on a plane before…ever. It was a great deal more fun than I had expected, despite the combination of nerves and boredom. I rather enjoyed traveling.

Romano was nice enough about my small panic attack when I realized when I was boarding a plane, insofar as, once he had bodily dragged me to my seat and buckled me in, he had told me there was nothing to worry about.

He had also grumpily said, once I had gathered my wits enough after takeoff and asked about self-defense, that he had absolutely no idea how to teach any kind of self-defense to me whatsoever. Being a country, he relied more on his brute strength and his ability to just plain _not die_ to win most fights…when he actually _did_ fight…which I doubted. When Romano fought other countries, he, well…he was Italian. He didn't fight much, or well.

So, for the moment, I was still going to be pretty much useless in a straight-out combat situation, unless I could brain my opponent with a rock or something when they got close. My throwing somewhat sucked.

After that disappointing revelation, I was forced to listen to Romano snore –being Italian, he was always looking to take a nap somehow, somewhere– for the next few hours before I discovered the delight of in-flight movies. That occupied me long enough so that when my own eyelids began to flutter, I was more than ready to snatch a quick wink of sleep. So thinking, I curled up against the opposite edge of the seat and snagged a pillow, stuffing it under my head and closing my eyes. Almost instantly I fell asleep.

_***Time Skip***_

"So this is Japan?" I asked as Romano elbowed his way through the crowd, dragging his suitcase and my bag away from the luggage carousel. He shrugged it off his shoulders and tossed the bag to me; I caught it with an "oof" of surprise.

"Yeah yeah, this is that idiot Japan's country. First things first, let's find our home base!" he snapped, and I shrugged and fell in step beside him. Using a credit card that I suspected did not belong to him, he rented us a car that took us to _way_ out in the Japanese countryside; I spent most of the trip looking at the new sights. We stopped next to a very quaint hotel, and Romano got out, quickly followed by me and the cabby –or whatever the Japanese equivalent was– with his suitcase. The drive had taken about two hours and several hundred dollars (I assumed it was at least that much, since Romano looked very put-out for the fraction of the second it took him to remember that the money wasn't his), so it wasn't just Romano that was ferociously hungry. I had noticed that since we got off the plane that his mood dropped sharply, corresponding exactly to the sudden lack of things to eat.

My stomach then rumbled, reminding me that I was also really, _really_ hungry.

Romano signed us in, again under our fake names, and, after collecting our keys, we trooped up to our room.

Yes, _room_ as in the singular.

It was one bite-sized room with two beds and a lamp on a nightstand in between them both, and another smaller "room" in the corner that included a toilet, a sink, and a tiny, tiny shower. I stared at it in dismay for about five minutes as Romano carelessly dropped his suitcase by one of the beds, claiming it for his own, then flopped down on top of it and began to snore. My right eye began twitching.

 _Seriously, how does he not get insomnia or whatever; he must've slept for at least fifteen hours straight by now!_ I thought incredulously to myself, mechanically dropping my own bag by the remaining bed. A knock on the door startled me, and I went to answer it, but paused. I peeked through the little eyehole that let you check visitors –no, it wasn't any of the Second Players. I didn't recognize the woman, but she seemed to be wearing the same uniform as the man at the front desk, so maybe she was a maid or something, come to clean.

I opened the door. "Um, our room is clean-" I said hesitantly, and she smiled and shook her head.

" _Ie, ie,_ I am for to offer you food." she said in clipped but understandable English, and I blinked, and then nodded rapidly, chuckling sheepishly as my stomach gave a hungry growl.

"Uh, yeah, thanks. Erm, _arigato_." I said belatedly, and she nodded and gave me two rather largish boxes from which a distinctly seafood-ish smell emanated. I thanked her again, assuming that the bill for this was put on our tab, and closed the door. Once she was safely down the hall, I locked it, because you never knew.

I then turned around, only for the top box to be grabbed out of my hands by a fiendishly hungry Romano. I stared at him as he opened the box, expertly broke the chopsticks, and began wolfing down food. "Uh…dude…weren't you asleep?" I asked dumbly, my mind slowly spinning in circles. _Does he just have a freaky spider-sense when it comes to food being nearby?_

Romano grunted and jabbed the briefly-empty chopsticks at me, then at my bed, and I correctly took the hint that I was supposed to sit down, shut up, and eat. I did so, and was surprised to note that, although I didn't really like seafood, this wasn't half bad.

We ate in silence, and by the time we were both done Romano had –luckily– regained at least the pretense of civility.

"Alright _krautlet_ , Japan's probably going to be taken over by this stage, so we obviously don't just walk to his front door and knock. I know the layout of his house thanks to my stupid brother, so what do you suggest for watching that copy-freak-man?" the Italian nation asked me briskly, unfolding a map he had kept in his back pocket and spreading it out over his knees. I leaned forward, seeing that it was hand-drawn, probably from memory, but very thorough nevertheless. It even included various plants and bushes around Japan's yard.

I squinted and tried to jog my own memory. "From what I remember, Japan's Second Player is honorable to the point of extremes, and he's affiliated with the Yakuza –the Japanese equivalent of the mafia. He's supposed to be cold, ruthless, and occasionally perverted, although he's very…sneaky about it." I said slowly, becoming hesitant as I drew on those last bits of knowledge, as I wasn't at all sure about them and it seemed to vary greatly from writer/depicter to writer/depicter.

Romano's scowl grew deeper. "Not good. So, we should probably stay hidden?"

"Probably."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-Posted: February 4th, 2020, 10.42 PM USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: November 21st, 2014, 8.22 PM, USA Central Time


	9. In Which Spying is Done

_Arya's POV:_

I wiggled slightly, lifting my head the tiniest inch to peek over the leaves blocking my vision. A gap in the thick greenery was "conveniently" positioned about an inch about my eye level, so that I had to concentrate very hard to keep the movement inconspicuous, not to mention stop myself from straining something in my neck.

Romano and I were currently hidden inside a large group of bushes that Japan had out in front of his house: luckily, as it was the middle of summer, they still had their full-leafed foliage and provided excellent cover. Romano was on his stomach, completely hidden, as was I, both of us less than a foot apart so that we could whisper back and forth without getting caught. The nation was making use of a lower gap in the leaves to spy on our target…or the lack thereof. Apparently Japan had gone out to do something several hours before we had snuck up to the house, which was a lucky break for us to get into position. Hopefully, we'd stay hidden when he returned.

Romano edged closer just slightly. "Why aren't we searching the house?" he hissed under his breath, flicking his eyes towards the empty driveway and back to me, glowering in frustration. I glared back at him. We'd had this conversation several times already.

"Because if he comes back suddenly he might catch us, and if we disturb anything he'll _know_ someone was around searching for something! Besides, nobody ever remembered getting something, so the curse or the what-have-you that's bringing them over probably isn't attached to an object!" I hissed back with equal frustration, and he scowled sullenly and looked back towards the driveway.

Still nothing.

Romano jabbed me with his elbow. _"I'm telling you-"_

"Kesesese~! WHAT'S UP LOSERS! I _FOUND_ YOU!"

High strung as we both were, spying on a possible homicidal maniac in a friend's body, we both jumped about a mile in the air and screamed at the sound. Romano shrieked almost exactly like a little girl, with me not far behind in pitch, and it took me half a second with my heart in my mouth to recognize the uproarious laughter and accented voice behind us as almost certainly not belonging 2p!Japan.

We both turned, murder and panic clashing in our eyes, to see an albino man in a blue military uniform sitting on the grass behind us, laughing his ass off. Romano looked damn near angry enough to be nearly frothing at the mouth, but before either of us could make a move we heard the _crunch_ of a car driving up Japan's drive.

We both looked at each other, then at the Prussian. The message in Romano's eyes was clear, and I reluctantly nodded.

"OH _MEIN GOTT_ , YOU FUCKING LOSERS SHOULD'VE SEEN YOUR FACES-"

Before Prussia could even register the determined look in our eyes, we had both grabbed him by the collar and wrenched him forward, yanking him into the bushes and pinning him down between the two of us. Me and Romano were once again laying on our stomachs in more or less the same spot, the only difference now being a slightly surprised country was wedged between the two of us, with both our hands knotted in Prussia's collar, keeping him down. The albino looked from one face to the other and grinned evilly. "Kesesese, a threesome? I'm flattered, but the awesome Prussia does not-"

I frantically hit him upside the head, hard enough that he cut off his sentence with a curse and I felt the impact in my bones as he glared at me and rubbed the back of his skull. "The awesome Prussia is going to get us all caught by a homicidal Japan look-alike!" I hissed at him, trying to instill _some_ measure of urgency into the cocky nation.

His dark crimson eyes widened. "Seriously?! I thought Japan was out sick, shouldn't you losers be inside with him if zat psycho-"

I didn't have the time nor the inclination to explain everything, as the car rolled ever-closer to us, but I did my best. "Japan's been taken over by an evil twin version of himself and we're spying on him to see if we can free Japan, and all the other countries that got sick with the amnesia disease have probably been taken over too, so will you _please_ be quiet?! If they catch us, they'll probably kill me and change you both into your evil alternate selves!"

Prussia blinked at me twice, then whispered loudly to Romano without ever breaking eye contact with me. "Wow, this chick is nuts. Can you actually believe this sh-"

Romano cursed frantically and boxed Prussia's ear. "Shut up, _stupido!_ He's coming!" he whispered, sounding near panic, and I peeked through my opening of leaves to see the car door pop open. Prussia stopped rubbing his ear and muttering things in German and full-on _stared_ as the inhabitant got out, his already white face going even paler: I didn't blame him.

An Asian man with black hair, cropped in nearly exactly the same style as the original Japan's, and wearing an inverted uniform of the Japanese Imperial Navy, was getting out of the car. He had a katana dangling at his hip and a parcel in his opposite hand. I couldn't tell his eye color from this angle, but I was fairly certain it was a red, much like the color of blood. But more than anything else, he radiated an aura of _wrong_ , even though he physically looked no more out of place than the original Japan, on a rustic property in the middle of the country. Looking at the black-clad figure standing against the green, there was a bone-shuddering swirl of _displacement_ curling in my stomach, a nausea like one too many rides at an amusement park. This _thing_ did not _belong_. My body vibrated in sympathy with that one basic fact.

Ever so slowly, Prussia leaned closer to me and whispered in my ear "So, _fraulien_ , what exactly did you say about zis guy?"

I glanced at him: Prussia sounded like he was rattled, which was unheard of. I then held a finger to my lips and made tiny motions enjoying absolute stillness. Prussia nodded quickly and flattened himself to the ground, like he was trying to physically melt through the solid earth. He reminded me of a scared puppy trying to blend into his surroundings.

"Japan" moved around the car and began walking towards the house –bringing him closer to us. I felt Prussia start to tremble slightly as that source of _wrongness_ came closer, and as I stretched out a little to check on Romano, he was shaking.

 _Although, since they're countries and I'm not, the Second Player's…evilness…must be getting them straight in the teeth. I get the lesser vibes 'cause I'm only a human, but he's like pure evil and I can sense that. Their sort of corruption affects everyone. At least, I think it does. Maybe they can hide it to help themselves blend in._ I thought with a soft gulp, then nudged Prussia. He stopped trembling, and I motioned with my eyes towards Romano, trying to convey reassurance. Luckily, the former country got the hint and tugged on Romano's hair –not his curl, thank god– and gave the terrified Italian a thumbs-up when he glanced towards us. He probably grinned at him, but my attention was focused on Japan's double.

Suddenly the faint hum and buzz of a phone going off echoed towards us, and 2p!Japan stopped, a disgruntled look on his face. He did something strange at this point –he carefully unclipped his katana, then placed it behind a cherry tree in Japan's yard, and placed the parcel behind the same. After that, he walked back to the car and stood in front of one of the side mirrors. Something black and vaporous leached out of him as he sagged a little, and suddenly he was Japan again: the real, original, slightly confused Japan, patting down his pockets. Prussia and Romano stiffened in surprise, staring at the other country, but I watched the "smoke", and was rewarded. Like it was being sucked in, it hovered over the car mirror and funneled down towards it, the mirror's surface seemingly absorbing the misty black cloud until not a scrap remained. Japan meanwhile, had discovered his ringing phone –and how the _hell_ had their uniforms changed?!– and pulled it out, putting it to his ear.

_"Moshi moshi?"_

I nudged the other two as Japan began talking to (probably) one of his bosses. "Did you see the mist? It went into the mirror." I whispered to them, and Romano frowned as Prussia scratched his chin.

"So you're saying…" the ex-nation began expectantly, clearly having no intention of figuring it out on his own, and Romano chewed on his lip.

"Mirrors? Do you think _that's_ how they get over?" he hissed to me, and I shrugged.

"I dunno, maybe it's just –hey, look at Japan!"

We all turned, and the eastern nation was putting his phone away calmly. He suddenly froze, his brown eyes going glazed, and the black mist flowed out from the mirror, enveloping his face and rapidly scanning down his form. By the time it was done, 2p!Japan resolutely set out for the house again, picking up his katana and parcel as he did.

We waited about five minutes, then crept out of the bushes and silently, but quickly, made our way to whatever transport we had stashed nearby.

_***Time Skip***_

"So wait, you're serious?!" Prussia asked incredulously as he poured himself another round of _sake_. We were holed up in a bar near the town where Japan's house was: Prussia had decided that this tremendous shock warranted alcohol. A _great deal_ of alcohol. Romano sat on his right, not being partial to _sake_ or getting drunk, and I sat on his left, too young to drink alcohol at all. This was the third time we had run through what we knew, and it was getting hard to keep quiet about it and not shout it in the Germanic (former) nation's ear.

Romano answered this time, not moving from his slumped position where his cheek rested on his hand. "Listen you dumb bastard, we're serious. Any idiot who saw that copy would've known we were for real: what's left to guess at?"

Prussia scowled and downed a glass: he seemed intent on getting plastered. "What my problem is, is the fact you _dummkopfs_ haven't called a World Meeting about it; ze other countries would want to know!" he shot back, and Romano facepalmed. I rubbed my temples with my forefingers, where a migraine was developing.

"Prussia, we don't know if the doubles can read the original's mind, and the _last_ thing we want for them to know is that we're onto them. You wanna get killed by Italy? Lemme tell you this, his 2p!'s a nightmare. He plays with knives, he's literally a gangster, he's cunning, manipulative, and utterly sadistic: you want someone like that after you, wanting revenge? Maybe you guys get insurance 'cause you're countries, but I sure as hell don't, and I do _not_ want to go out like that."

Prussia sipped his _sake_ and didn't answer. I continued angrily, beginning to gesture to make my point. "And it isn't just him; nearly all the other doubles are just as murderous in their own ways; England's knows _magic_ , for Christ's sake! If we try and fight them without planning something beforehand, we're going to get ourselves killed or worse! Do you know what happens when a country gets possessed, 'cause I sure as hell don't! What if you get sent to _their_ world, which is probably just as evil and alternate as they are?!" I spat angrily, jabbing my finger at the counter to get my point across. It wasn't the best speech I made, and I was pretty sure some of it made no sense, but I certainly hoped it convinced him of our urgency.

Prussia finally drained his latest glass and set it down on the counter. "The awesome Prussia cannot refuse so kickass an opportunity, so you can count me in!" he suddenly crowed, pointing at me in an abrupt switch of tone, grinning like the maniac he was. "Hell, I get to beat up everyone else and they can't even blame me!"

Romano and I both sweatdropped as the Prussian began happily declaiming his tributes, a doom cloud hovering above our heads.

_Just remember that we need him, we need him…_

The door tinkled as it opened and closed, and Romano stiffened. I couldn't tell what it was from here, but my heart sunk all the same, and a surreptitious look under my bangs showed that the newcomer had black hair cut in a disturbingly familiar fashion. We both elbowed Prussia and I jerked my head towards the door as he looked at me in surprise. His eyes moved over my head, tracking something in the bar window behind me, and his face went pale. I heard him mutter " _Scheiße_." under his breath as he set his drink on the bar counter, and we all slunk off our stools.

I edged around the small crowd, heading for the exit, and saw Romano doing the same. Prussia however, cut right through, and I pulled my hood up, thanking my impulse earlier that had made me include such a shapeless and potentially identity-hiding article of clothing as a navy-blue hoodie in my outfit today. Suddenly there was a _crash_ like broken pottery, and the crowd gasped and began to swirl away from the sound. Romano, across the room, looked at me in horror, then at the disturbance, and my own eyes went wide. Prussia was laughing his annoying _"Kesese"_ , slowly circling 2p!Japan, who had blood trickling down the right side of his face, probably from the broken _sake_ cup the other nation held. In the Second Player nation's hand was his katana, and it was stained bright red, red as the slowly spreading stain on Prussia's stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-Posted: February 4th, 2020, 10.53 PM USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: November 22nd, 2014, 9.13 AM, USA Central Time


	10. In Which Plans are Made

_Arya's POV:_

It was stupid and I knew it was stupid, even as I lunged forward and elbowed my way through the crowd, even as I picked up my own abandoned _sake_ cup and smashed it to get a sharp edge, I knew that this was a bad, bad idea.

Prussia held the bleeding wound on his stomach with his left hand, gripping a shard of broken pottery with his other, still "Kesese"ing steadily. It was a pitiful weapon against the razor-sharp katana in the Second Player's hand, and probably the only reason Prussia wasn't gutted like a fish was the cut on 2p!Japan's temple, steadily impeding his vision as it poured blood into his eyes.

The dark nation shook his head slightly, trying to clear his eyesight, and I took my chance and pounced on him, wrapping my arm around his throat in a stranglehold as 2p!Japan hissed in surprise and his elbow slammed into my sternum, making me drop the shard of pottery as pain flared through my system. I wheezed but hung on, my side aching as all the breath in my lungs left me, and I grabbed his sword arm as he struggled against my hold on his neck, keeping the blade away from me as I gasped for air. Apparently 2p!s were just as strong as their regular counterparts: probably the only reason he hadn't pulped my entire side was the bad angle 2p!Japan had to hit me at.

Prussia dropped his shard of pottery and picked up a serving tray; the 2p struggled wildly as he realized what it was for, and I hung on with equal desperation as his hard elbow crunched into my side and ribs again and again. I could almost _feel_ each of the blue-black bruises I _knew_ I'd get later on develop with each searing impact. That wasn't all 2p!Japan was doing either: he jerked his sword arm frantically, trying to free it, while I held on with equal desperation. I repeatedly thanked Germany's unholy workout training again and again as I hung on: I would _never_ have been able to go through this without it.

Just as I felt my grip on his wrist beginning to slip, Prussia slammed the tray down on his head and the Second Player was out like a light. I groaned in relief and let go as he slumped to the floor, my right side feeling like one big bruise. Prussia grinned at me wearily, but before either of us could say anything the front wall crashed inward and Romano spun the car around, honking the horn.

"Come on losers, move it or lose it!" he snapped, and we both managed to sprint towards the car, idling in the wreckage of the front wall, jerk open the car doors, and lunge in before Romano slammed his foot down and we were gone. He drove like a true Italian madman, zooming past the cop cars on their way, speeding down the rustic "highway", and finally turning on to the true highway that connected the small villages to the big cities and vice versa.

I whimpered in pain and slumped sideways as we got underway and it was safe to…well not relax, but ease up. My right side felt sore and tender, and anything involving contact or breathing hurt like the very devil. Movement hurt even more.

"Ow…" I moaned as I attempted to curl up, then winced and lay flat again. "Fucking son of a bitch, that hurts…" I whimpered. I cursed the name of 2p!Japan, and all other alternate nations. I had bruises where no bruises should be, and bruises on top of them.

Prussia's platinum-blond head popped up over the edge of the front seat at my growling (He had mysteriously commandeered shotgun: I wasn't about to argue, what with me being beaten to a pulp and all) and he stared at me.

"Vat's wrong with you?"

I gave the ex-nation the snake eyes from my fetal position. "That damn bastard beat my side to a fucking pulp when I stepped in to save your ass." I hissed, feeling in too much pain to be politic.

He laughed. "Kesese! I'm the awesome Prussia, I didn't need your help!" He climbed over the seat and perched on the floor, proudly drawing his shirt up to show me the sluggishly bleeding wound on his stomach. "See! This little scratch can't faze the awesome _me!"_

I stared at the cut. I _knew_ that 2p!Japan had nearly sliced his guts out, and yet the cut was shallow, and the bleeding was slowing down every second.

 _Arya, remember, he's a former country. He's more durable than a normal human, or so says certain parts of the fandom._ My tired brain reminded me, memories stirring in the fog that the pain caused. And apparently those particular headcanons were true: Prussia's wound was closing up right before my eyes, albeit very, very slowly.

"Romano?" I asked wearily. The Italian's curl bobbed slightly as he shrugged.

"For real countries like me and my brother, wounds like that close up instantly. This _bastardo_ just does it slower because-"

"I AM ZE AWESOME PRUSSIA!" Prussia crowed, dropping his bloody shirt and leaning his head back over the seat to grin almost warningly, ferally, at Romano. The other nation snorted, but thankfully remained silent. Prussia looked back over to me and crouched, smirking slightly. "So _fraulien_ , I never did get your name during all zat mess." he said expectantly, and I painfully sat up a little and offered my hand.

"Aryana, Aryana Thompson. Arya for short." I said calmly as he grinned and extended his own, shaking mine firmly.

"I am ze awesome Prussia." he said with equal solemnity, and I fell back with a sigh of painful relief as he leaned against the car door, hunkered over in the place where most sitting passengers would put their feet. "So now what? _They_ know Prussia's either aware of the fact something's wrong, or the fact that Japan, who is supposedly sick, is alive, well, and murderous." I asked the air above me, and Romano cursed and hit the driving wheel.

"Damnit, _bastardo!_ Why couldn't you have stayed in Europe, where you belonged!" he snapped at Prussia, and I turned my head as the Germanic nation calmly settled in a bit more comfortably in the corner between the seat and the door.

"Actually, he raises a good point. What were you doing in Japan?" I asked him, and he cackled.

"Kesese~! Pranking Japan, of course! Zat loser needs to lighten up, especially when he's sick!"

 _So he was here on accident._ I thought as both me and Romano sweatdropped.

Prussia suddenly got a determined glint in his eyes, reminding me that he was, no matter how egotistical and jerk-ish that he acted, a once-powerful empire, and sat up straighter. "So, what's the plan of action? We're going to tuck our tails and run!?"

Romano said "Hell yes!" at the same time I said "Hell no!" and Prussia glared at the Italian.

 _"Feigling."_ he muttered, and Romano snapped around and jabbed a finger at him.

"I just want to live, _bastardo!"_

The car jerked dangerously as I yelped and nearly slid off the seat, and Romano rapidly turned around again and grabbed the wheel, barely getting control of the car once more. I scooted backwards until my shoulders were resting against the seat back again.

"I, um, have a theory." I said hesitantly, and Prussia looked at me as Romano glanced in the mirror.

"Yeah?"

I bit my lower lip. "Well, hypothetically, since they seem to need mirrors to cross over and possess their original selves, can't we wait until they he does the thing where he leaves Japan, then drag Japan away from the mirror and break it to make sure he can't get him again?"

Prussia stared at me musingly for a few seconds, then grinned slowly, a wicked glint coming into his crimson eyes.

"I think it'll be worth a try." Romano said after a moment, tapping his finger against the wheel. "But I'm not going anywhere near the mirror or Japan until we know it's safe. You two can do the breaking and the grabbing." he added defensively, looking over his shoulder at the both of us. Before Prussia could say anything, I sat up with a wince.

"I should be the one to break the mirror, if anything. They already know Prussia's on to them, if I keep out of sight they won't know if he just has an accomplice or if someone else actually knows what's going on. Prussia can grab Japan, since he's stronger than me." I volunteered, clutching my side, and Prussia nodded with a maniac grin.

"I like zis plan! The awesome Prussia will save the loser nations, and be hailed as awesome foreverm-"

I kicked him in the knee, which was about as much retaliation I could go for right now. "And we will be _careful_ and _quiet_ about it from start to finish." I added, glaring at him as he glared back.

_***Time Skip***_

I winced again as Romano tightened a bandage. "Stop flinching!" he snapped as he passed the roll around my middle again and jerked it as I bit back a yelp.

"Well it bloody _hurts!"_ I shot back as Prussia snickered behind me, amused.

When we had got back to our motel, I had discreetly pulled my shirt up to check the damage, and sure enough, my entire right side was black and blue. Romano had squinted at me, then whispered something to Prussia as the other grinned, and before I knew it, my arms were caught and drawn up by his hands, and Romano was advancing upon me with a medical kit.

"HEY! LEGGO!" I shrieked as I began to belatedly struggle, but Prussia lifted me up and my legs were suddenly kicking at thin air as my entire weight hung from my arms, and I whimpered as it pulled at the muscles connecting my shoulder to my side and stopped. Prussia set me back down, and Romano pulled out a bottle of something that smelled like antiseptic and cardboard, frowning at the label and then uncapping it. "I hate you both." I muttered sullenly as he began smearing the gel on my side, flinching as he pressed too hard on some places that were more tender than the others.

"C'mon _fraulien_ , we need you in fighting condition, not whining und wailing like a little baby!" Prussia exhorted, and I looked over my shoulder.

"My arms are held behind my back by some guy I don't know, my shirt is nearly pulled over my breasts, my torso is exposed, and another guy I barely know is smearing stuff all over my side. Do you expect me to be comfortable?" I asked him dryly, and he deadpanned.

"When you say it like zat, anything would sound bad."

We both chuckled, but I yelped as Romano took out a roll of bandages and ruthlessly wrapped it around my side, tears coming to my eyes. "OW! YOU FUCKING LITTLE ITALIAN PIECE OF SH-"

He wrapped another length around me and I broke off in a screech of agony. This continued until my torso was nearly completely wrapped in (painfully tight) bandages…I looked like a mummy.

Prussia let go of my arms and I lowered them, wincing at the flare of pain from my side. "I swear, I'll get you both for this." I muttered under my breath, and Prussia grinned as Romano made a shooing motion with his hand.

"Yeah, whatever _krautlet_. Don't you two have planning to do?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-Posted: February 4th, 2020, 11.01 PM USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: November 26th, 2014, 12.03 USA Central Time


	11. In Which Prussia Wears a Ninja Costume

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> However aggravatingly stereotypical it can be, I made the decision to keep SOME of Japan's vocal ticks, inasmuch as the occasional l/r switch, since that is an actual bit of phonemic coding that the Japanese language does not have, similar to the p/b one in Arabic. The details of it aren't worth going into since they're relevant pretty much only for linguists, but the gist of it is that when humans are infants, we absorb and internalize language phenoms (individual sounds like syllables and/or letters) we hear all the time and prune out the neurons that cover phenoms our language don't use to conserve brain functions: Japanese doesn't do the English letter sounds L and R, ergo, native Japanese speakers have difficulty differentiating/producing between the two sounds.
> 
> I'm in college for an English as a Second Language/English Language Learning teacher, this piece of linguistics I am confident with.

_Arya's POV:_

I stared at myself in the mirror, feeling extremely out of place. Prussia had gone out and bought two ninja costumes for us, the better to "blend" in, and I felt fairly ridiculous.

I was dressed all in black, with these weird shoes that were really soft on the outside, yet had a really thick, flexible rubber sole. My pants were also strangely soft, but rather tight. My shirt was long-sleeved and had a hood attached to it.

The hood was my real problem. It went over your head and had a smaller strip of cloth that went around your nose and mouth and was clipped into the other side of the hood, both to keep it on and hide your face. I felt I looked like either a complete badass or an utter fool, leaning towards the fool.

"Uh, Romano?" I asked, slinking out from the bathroom.

He looked up from his packing, and stared at me. "Wow, look who's a hoodie ninja!" the nation snapped, irritated by my distraction, and continued shoving clothes inside his suitcase. "What do you want, _krautlet?"_

"Do I look okay?" I asked as I cocked my body sideways, checking myself out and lifting a corner of my shirt. "I feel weird."

Romano paused, then deliberately put his current article of clothing down and leaned back, leaning his face on his hand and glaring at me. "Let's put it this way _krautlet_ , you don't look like yourself and that's all that matters. This isn't a fashion show, this is either a B & E or a potential murder, so don't get so worked up over appearances." he barked, then went back to packing.

I let go of the shirt, feeling partially relieved.

"Kesese! Hooded Death stalks ze night!" Prussia chipped in as he jumped down from the ceiling, clad in an identical costume to my own. I rolled my eyes and sighed, then blinked as he held out a pair of dark sunglasses and pointed to his face. "We've got to keep our eyes hidden too, since I'm like ze only albino around!" he snickered, and I nodded and carefully put them on.

Properly kitted out, I tugged the black gloves on my hands and prepared to break the law.

_***Time Skip***_

I don't know if it was the fact we were wearing ninja costumes that worked like magic, or the fact that being in _Hetalia_ , an anime, granted temporary equivalence with whatever costume you were wearing, but I was a hell of a lot stealthier than I had ever been before as I crept towards the house, circling around a patch of herb garden. Prussia was right behind me and slightly to the left. I was so interested in this phenomenon that I asked him, in the shelter of a bush, how he had gotten so sneaky, hoping it might explain something. He merely smirked at me and said that stealth was imperative to pull all the best pranks. Which did make sense, but didn't explain why _I_ was being so sneaky.

I paused as I flattened myself against the wall near the door, realizing something, and blinked as Prussia, on the other side of me, nudged me with an elbow, looking impatient. I leaned in closer to him and whispered "How are we going to get the Second Player to let go of Japan?"

Prussia sighed gustily and bent down to whisper back. "Romano's going to use his boss's phone to call him." he hissed quietly in my ear, and I nodded rapidly and continued edging along until I came until the door. Prussia took over at this point and passed me, then leaned down, crouching at the door and sliding it just barely ajar. He pulled his glasses down and peered through the crack, then pulled the door just wide enough that we could pass through and pushed his shades back up.

The ex-nation tiptoed into the room first, with me close behind, and I looked around as he crept towards the next doorway and scouted out the hallway. We seemed to be in Japan's kitchen, and his dining room looked to be right across from us, with a hallway running from our left to right probably leading to his front door and back yard. I studied all the cooking implements, wondering if I could use one as a weapon if things went sour, but Prussia waved me forward before I could decide. He cupped his hand to my ear, whispering the situation to me. "Ze Japan look-alike is in ze dining room. Zere's a huge mirror covering one of ze walls. How're you gonna smash _zat?"_ he hissed, sounding worried.

I froze. That was _bad_ news for our plan. "Uh…"

_Get it together Arya, Japan's counting on you two! Think woman, think!_

"Is there a table or something like that? Maybe I can use it to smash the mirror." I asked in a low whisper, and he looked.

 _"Ja_ , but you might not be able to lift it." he pointed out, and I swallowed nervously.

"I'll just have to."

Prussia nodded and took out a phone, shielding the glow with his hands as he tapped something out, then quickly turned it off. After a few moments, I heard a faint buzz from the dining room, and a masculine grumble. I looked over Prussia's shoulder, both of us crouched in the doorway, and saw the familiar black fog wafting towards the reflective glass.

Prussia held his black-gloved fingers up: three, two, one.

We streaked into the room and Prussia grabbed a very-surprised-looking Japan, darting out to the hallway as I gripped the small trestle table he'd been at with both hands, looking at the wall-to-wall mirror perpendicular to the door.

I gaped behind my mask as I saw the room, reflected in it, darken. The wood and cloth became splintered and slightly ragged, and I saw a misty black figure form amongst the decay.

2p!Japan stared at me from the other world's doorway to the kitchen, his blood-red eyes full of rage. He started walking forward, looking murderous, and without a thought I heaved and threw the table. 2p!Japan stopped walking as it hit the glass and snapped a long, jagged fracture across it, and I saw the world reflected therein, the _wrong_ one, bulge and twist, distorting. The alternate Japan looked faintly surprised, but started walking again, urgency coming into his steps. I looked around frantically for something, _anything_ , to throw next, and finally heaved the table up again and threw it at the mirror once more, my bandaged side screaming in pain.

Another fracture, and the world in the mirror juddered and roiled like it was losing all sense of focus. I couldn't understand how he kept walking, but now 2p!Japan was sprinting, and he was almost at the mirror's edge. With a sob of pain, I lifted the table over my head and _smashed_ it against the mirror, and just as he was about to "cross over", it shattered. For a moment he, and everything else, was reflected perfectly, just broken up like a mosaic, and then the shards of mirror were raining down around me and there was nothing but Japan's, the real Japan's, room reflected in them, as well as myself. I nervously felt around my face for splinters of glass, but there was nothing there as I turned towards the door.

"Dude?" I asked quietly, not trusting anything enough to say Prussia's name just yet. The albino ex-nation strutted in, his ninja hood discarded, and the real Japan was walking behind him, looking miffed.

"I told you, there was no need to grab me." he told my companion irritably, and then blinked at me. "Who are you, and why are you dressed rike a ninja? Did you break that mirror over there…hey wait a minute, when did I get a mirror?" He looked at the few remaining shards in bewilderment, clearly lost.

I looked at Prussia and pointed to our companion. "You tell him. I'm going to go looking for things 2p!Japan might have left behind."

_***Time Skip***_

To my surprise and deep suspicion, besides the mirror, I found absolutely nothing that Japan wouldn't have. In fact, a great deal of his stuff was missing, including his futon sleeping mat.

 _So the Second Player didn't sleep here?_ I thought as I checked the food and water bowls for his pets, both of which were full. As I reentered the dining room, I saw Prussia, still hoodless and now without his dark glasses, sitting across from Japan, who was drinking a cup of tea.

"I find this all very suspicious. Are you sure he is not praying a prank on me?" Japan said calmly, looking at me as I sat down and removed my hood. I shook my head, folding the glasses and clipping them onto my shirt collar.

"Sorry Mr. Japan, but this is all true…or if Prussia told you the right story, it is." I gave the former nation a suspicious glare, and he grinned.

Japan took another sip of tea. "He did spout some nonsense about me being possessed." he conceded, and I rubbed the back of my neck.

"Actually, that is the right story. It's what the amnesia disease is, the evil alternate nations taking you guys over and using your bodies, or something like that. Did something happen to you, before you started feeling weird?"

He tipped the tea cup back and finished it. "Well, now that you mention it, I was chased by some homeless individuars the other day. They trapped me in some kind of warehouse and I saw a man in a dark cloak throw some kind of dirt at me. I thought I managed to dodge it, but apparentry not. After he threw it at me, he left, and the others ran away."

Prussia's eyes gleamed in interest as I raised my eyebrows.

"Do you know what he looked like?!"

To my disappointment, Japan shook his head. _"Ie_ , I'm sorry. He was wearing a hood, and the cloak covered nearry everything else."

I cursed and snapped my fingers as Prussia looked sour. Japan looked from one of us to the other. "So, what is plan now?" he asked expectantly, and I looked at Prussia nervously.

"Um, I don't think we should tell you Mr. Japan, in case you get taken over again. You should try to stay away from mirrors, in fact, stay away from anything reflective if you can. Can you do that?"

He nodded in determination, making a fist. _"Hai_ , I will stay strong."

We both stood to leave, and Japan belatedly came to his feet and bowed to us both. "I will ask some people to take away the mirror pieces tomorrow. Safe journeys."

Prussia gave him a thumbs up with his usual "Kesese", and I bowed back.

"You too, good luck."

As we walked down the moonlit driveway, Prussia suddenly stopped dead and swore. _"Scheiße!_ I forgot to make him say election!"

I smacked him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-Posted: February 4th, 2020, 11.17 PM USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: November 27th, 2014, 11.30 AM, USA Central Time


	12. In Which China is Addicted to Opium, Aru

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Totally making all this up by the way, I have no idea if this is how Chinese people dress when they're in the criminal underworld and need to look attractive while selling drugs. I don't think anyone will correct me on this point, anyways.

_Arya's POV:_

I seriously felt like we were a group of covert ops or somethine at this point, staring at my map of a high-end Chinese financial district and trying to make sense of the place names, never mind the ,em>places. Romano, on my right, was our tech and financial support, as well as the loud and often unneeded voice of caution. Prussia, _somewhere_ on my left, no doubt heckling the vendors on the street, was our expert on breaking and entering, thievery, sneaking around, and generally anything else involving illicit and covert operations. I was the info person, the one who knew what we were up against, but was otherwise of little practical use. Alone, we probably would've been caught within the first few moments of entering the country, but together, we had made it to the district that China, supposedly, lived in. He had reported feeling "weird" a few month ago, and hadn't checked in since, except to say that he was "back" and he felt better, but still not sure he had recovered completely.

We had reason to believe his "recovery" was nonexistent.

Romano was grumpy (which meant he was fine) as we arrived in the country, and Prussia was ecstatic at the chance to cause mischief (as well as be the savior of all the other countries), but I spent most of the plane, car, and bus ride, and the entire check-in process to our hotel, trying to dredge up all I knew about 2p!China. It wasn't much, other than the fact he wore a black (black?) cap, looked just like and wore China's clothes, had red eyes, and smoked opium. I had no idea about his habits, temperament, or general attitude, but I did know he wasn't one of the potentially (depending on which headcannon you followed) "good" Second Players like Prussia, Romano, or Belarus, the ones that were mostly harmless, so we would have to approach this with the same "no mercy" ethics that we had done with Japan.

 _Damnit, if only all the others were as well developed as Canada and America and England's and all the Axis 2ps, I wouldn't be having this problem! We're practically going in blind…_ I thought nervously as I worried my lower lip, and Prussia waved me over to the low, small table in our hotel room where he and Romano had been scheming.

The ex-nation put one of his fingers on a street, then traced it up, saying "Alright losers, here's what we do. China lives in zis house here, und I asked around –don't worry _fraulien_ , I was careful _und_ in disguise."

I closed my mouth with a glower. _For only having known me a few days, he knows me too well._

"Anyway, I checked around und ze second player took up residence there too, and presumably still is mooching off his original's good company."

We both glared at him as he grinned at his own joke.

"Hehe, anyway. Ze 2p _is_ addicted to opium like you said, a lot of it goes to his house on the sly. Und zat gives us a way in. It's simple, really: all we have to is send in one of his pimp girls with some opium and smash all the mirrors in ze house when he's distracted."

They both looked at me expectantly, and I blinked back.

"What?" I asked suspiciously. Prussia tapped the diagram of the house with an evil grin.

"Well, neither of us can pull off zat kind of look."

The penny dropping, I became seriously alarmed.

"You can't fucking be serious." I said, slowly backing away from the table. Prussia advanced, lifting up a bag he had gotten from the market downtown.

"Kesese, oh we are indeed. In the dress _fraulien!"_

I pulled out the pocket knife I had taken to carrying in my pocket out and pointed it at him. "Stay away from me! I am not some kind of hooker!" I squeaked defensively, and he got the meanest gleam in his eye, chuckling slowly.

"You're going in the dress whether you like it or not _fraulien_ , and if you refuse to do it yourself, ze awesome Prussia will just have to put it on for you!"

I desperately looked to my side. "Romano?! A little help here!"

He waved his hands in front of him. "Oh no, you're the only girl here and _I'm_ the one he's going to use as backup if you don't use the dress! Put it on, _krautlet!"_

I looked from one to the other and slowly realized that I hated logic. I gingerly took the bag and pointed to both Romano and Prussia, gripping the accursed thing by the least amount I could. "You, and you, just go into the bathroom or-or something. I'll change."

Prussia gave a whoop of triumph as he promptly ran to the bathroom and locked himself in, and Romano hastily turned around and clapped a hand over his eyes, his back to me.

I pulled out the dress first, which was more of a long shirt than a dress, especially since it barely came past my hips. It was a kind of wine-red that looked very regal, designed with a pattern of gold dragons all along the hems. I felt fairly ridiculous to even consider wearing it, but there you go. _If anyone ever accuses me of not staying true to a job, I swear to God…_

I stripped off my shirt and jeans and pulled the cursed heavy thing over my head, then bent over towards the bag again and took out some black tights, which would at least cover my legs. I yanked them up, then put on the very delicate-looking but actually very hard little leather shoes, which were dyed nearabout the same color as the dress and had the same pattern, just on a smaller scale. Lastly, there was some kind of weird cap that looked not unlike the one 2p!China actually(?) wore.

Once the bag was empty, I coughed into my fist. "It's okay now dude." I muttered, my cheeks flaming red.

Romano swiveled around in his chair, and his eyebrows rose. "Wow. You look…absolutely ridiculous." he said frankly, and I felt a tick mark grow.

"Hey! I thought the idea was for me to look nice and blend in!"

He deadpanned. "You're blonde…there is no such thing as a blonde Asian, _stupide_ …"

Another tick mark grew beside the first. "Then what the hell am I doing in this stupid dress?!"

For those who would wonder about it, I had no problem with more-feminine clothing, there was just a time and a place for such things. Going alone into an unknown enemy's territory was not one of them, especially in such a _short_ "dress".

Meanwhile, evil energy flares were darting back and forth between me and Romano's eyes, and we may have come to blows if Prussia, for once, had not made himself useful.

"Kesese, of course you don't fit in with your _current_ look! But fear not, ze awesome Prussia can make you fit in anywhere." he cackled happily as he put me in a headlock and dragged me to one of the armchairs, and I paled at the large amount of cosmetics laid out on the side table.

"If I wasn't more worried about what the hell you're going to put on me, I'd be seriously concerned on how you have those and know how to use them." I said as he shoved me into the chair, and he brandished a small disk of something (the kind that had powder in them) and a tiny paintbrush, grinning wickedly.

"Kesese, I'm an albino prankster! Of course I need disguises, even though ze awesomeness of ze awesome me outshines any mere paint!" he cackled, and I was seriously reminded of the "crotch cloth" scene as he ordered Romano to hold my hair and make me tilt my face up, "Kesese"ing to himself as he began layering makeup on me.

_***Time Skip***_

"Zhere! All done." Prussia capped the tube of lipstick, and I cautiously took the small hand mirror we carried around for checking our reflection. None of us trusted mirrors anymore, especially not big ones, but the small ones were safe –enough– for us to use without hiding our faces. Although we couldn't exactly do that either –I didn't think _any_ of the 2p!s would be stupid enough not to put two and two together if they saw us deliberately avoiding looking in the full-length mirrors we were supposed to be unwary of, or hiding our faces from them.

I held the tiny mirror up to my face, and blinked. The one that looked out was totally unfamiliar, and yet I couldn't have said that I could find any use of makeup on my features. I certainly looked _more_ Asian, if not a complete pureblooded native to the area. Prussia's skills were uncanny. _He should set up a makeup tutorial channel online._

Prussia handed me a small cloth bag with something that felt like a plastic medicine bottle inside it, his face uncharacteristically solemn. I hefted it slightly, confused. "What's this?"

"Opium."

I hissed and dropped it like the cloth bag and the bottle inside was on fire. "That's a _drug!"_ I shrieked as years of elementary school warnings burned through my brain, and Prussia picked it up carefully, dusted the bag off, and handed it to me again.

"We know that _fraulien_ , but you're the one that said this double likes it."

Romano came up silently behind him and folded his arms. "Look, we've been watching his house while you booked us a hotel, and when you bought dinner, and all you have to do is walk up to his front door and offer him the bag. Don't say anything, don't even look him in the eyes; he'll just grab it and beckon you inside. You'll go in, and come out about five, ten, thirty minutes later. It's easy." he told me firmly.

I pursed my lips. "What happens in those "five, ten, thirty" minutes?" I asked, and they both looked at each other.

Romano shrugged and said "No idea," at the same time Prussia stated "I think he just pays you."

My eye twitched slightly. "So you _are_ sending me in blind."

Romano rubbed the back of his neck and looked guilty as Prussia smirked guilelessly at me. "Don't worry _fraulien_ , it'll all go like clockwork."

_***Time Skip***_

_It'll all go like clockwork, it'll all go like clockwork…_ I repeated silently to myself as I stepped up China's doorsteps and knocked on the peeling paint of his door, trembling in every limb. I took a deep breath as I heard footsteps near the doorway, trying to calm myself. _It'll ruin everything if you're tense. Forget the fact you're after a murderous 2p: you are a nameless, bland, boring Chinese hooker lady with opium, hoping to get paid big bucks by a satisfied client. Focus, you are nothing more, and nothing less than that._

With this mental chant, I was able to focus on the scuffed and much abused boots of the newcomer as the door banged open, and slowly offer my bundle of drugs. There was an equally long pause, and then he almost delicately snatched it from my hand and made a languid motion, inviting me inside. I felt myself tremble one last time before my new persona settled in and I was able to follow the nation into the metaphorical lion's den.

His presence of…of _evilness_ was fainter than the other Second Player's, but if that was due to him being less actively evil or the fact he was purposefully tuning it down, I didn't know. At any rate, someone else would've found this to be quite a nice house: everything was in the bright colors China seemed to love, although there was a faint layer of dust over a lot of his decorations, as if what had taken China's place in this world didn't much care for cleaning. It was all also faintly ostentatious, which China, to be fair, had also seemed to like. Gilded and magnificent, you could _feel_ the long centuries of history in these walls, breathing in slow, dusty exhalations across your skin. Perhaps they tremored around the red-clad man leading me, perhaps the ancient vibrations of the house slid uneasily around this unwelcome, unwholesome intruder, but perhaps not.

The house was quiet, and that quiet itself raised hairs on the back of my neck.

As I listened, the Second Player had lead me to a room which also had a huge, floor-to-wall, wall-to-wall mirror, and a fainting couch incongruously pushed up against it. He picked up a pipe from his stand, unplugged the bottle without even taking it from the small silk bag, and poured a few tablespoons of a thick, tar-like substance into the bowl of the pipe, flicked a lighter he had in his pocket, and then lit the pipe. The Second Player took in a long draw, and even from my restricted view of pretty much everything from the knees down, I could tell that all the tension went out of his body. In fact, he swayed slightly, like he was so relaxed he might fall over.

2p!China sat down with a thump on the couch, letting out a long sigh of satisfaction. "This is some good stuff." he murmured dreamily.

I jumped slightly at his voice: it was the first time I had heard a 2p speak, aside from Luciano and what I _guessed_ to be 2p!Spain. The alternate nation's voice was deeper than China's, much deeper, but it held the same accent, and if you had heard either of them speak before, you'd know immediately that they were similar, if not almost certainly related.

Unsure of what to do, I settled for an almost imperceptible nod.

He waved the pipe at me slightly. "You, you don't know what it feels like. None of you do."

I fought the impulse to stare at him like an idiot. _Is he talking about being on opium, or what?_

2p!China took another blissful inhale from the pipe. "You, you, you haven't smoked this, ever. I can tell."

I _felt_ his eyes run over me, and resisted the urge to shudder and cover my breasts.

"It leaves its mark on people like you. Healthy people. Young people."

 _Please destroy the mirrors soon._ I thought desperately, and almost as if the thought had summoned it, a faint crash sounded from far away inside the hour. 2p!China's head lolled to the side slightly.

"Hear that?" he murmured, sounding only mildly curious instead of angry or alarmed.

_Then again, he is high or stoned or doped up or **whatever** you are when you're on opium. _

I dared to lift my eyes slightly and shook my head, allowing confusion to seep over my features. He stared at me for a moment, and I dropped my eyes again quickly.

Apparently they couldn't hide _all_ of their corruption, even when they were trying: small hints were there –it shone through most especially in their eyes. If you looked directly into them, stared at those dull maroon orbs for too long, you could almost _feel_ the source of the Second Players' taint brushing against your skin.

2p!China grunted, and I heard him slap the couch beside him. "Sit down."

My skin crawled at the thought of going anywhere near him, but I dared not refuse. Neither did I dare to appear reluctant, so it was with a little skip and a hop I came to rest on the couch next to him, holding my hands in my lap in what I hoped was a demure, not a terrified, fashion. He slung his arm over my shoulder and leaned against me, taking another long draw of his opium and breathing it out. I held my breath best I could: I couldn't afford to be high right now.

"You're a shy one. Usually your kind are a bit more forward about what they want."

His arm gave a little squeeze around me as he spoke.

 _Please hurry up, please hurry up, please hurry up…_ I begged Romano and Prussia, and nearly squeaked as 2p!China pinched my cheek.

"It's a bit cute, to be honest."

I swallowed, but my dry throat caught and I had to cough slightly, which I hoped could be passed as a reaction to the lingering opium fumes.

He chuckled, apparently buying it, and took another draft. "Mmm, you don't know what you're missing." 2p!China purred teasingly, and I couldn't hide the flinch as he pulled me into his lap. I just prayed that in his drugged state he wouldn't notice my now-extremely-apparent unease, as well as my shivers.

I suddenly had the nasty thought, which we had discussed before, of what we would do if 2p!China would not somehow leave the real China's body. I felt my phone buzz in my pocket just as he was taking another draft, and mentally cursed as I carefully levered the screen up so I could check it.

  
Romano  


> We're done smashing mirrors, all that's left is the one in the big room where you two are. What the hell are you doing in there?!

  
The Awesome Prussia  


  


> Ooh, getting friendly with China's double, Arya? ;3

I checked the state of 2p!China (still moderately engrossed in his pipe) and quickly typed out a response to both parties.

> We're in what I think is China's living room, he's got a mirror like Japan did and a couch in front of it. He's on the couch smoking and I'm in his freaking lap! I don't know what to do! Help!

I sent it and quickly tucked my phone back in my pocket as 2p!China sat up slightly from his slump. "Hey, you're shy." he mumbled as he lightly batted a stray lock of my black-dyed hair. I froze as a wave of nausea shot through my stomach, and mentally berated myself for freezing, before nodding tremulously.

 _Prussia, you asshole, I will never forgive you if you don't come up with one of your "brilliant" ideas right now and get me out of this._ I thought viciously to the still-absent country –and what the _hell_ were he and Romano doing?! – as I focused on my tightly clenched hands in my lap. The Second Player mumbled something else in Chinese –I obviously didn't understand a word of it– and leaned forward. I stiffened as his face came close to mine, and he grinned slightly in that doped-up way he had right now.

"But you're cute."

He leaned forward a little more as he gripped me by the hair on the back of my head, and his intentions were obvious as my face turned a flaming red. Hell, I'd never kissed _anyone_ before, and now-

SMASH!

I was never so glad to see anyone as I was to see Romano as he smashed the plate-sized mirror –and where had he gotten _that?!_ – over 2p!China's head. I didn't even care about the mirror shards breaking so close to my face.

The Second Player slumped even more as I jerked back, and I saw the mirror ripple as something like black smoke tore away in Romano's hands, dissipating even as the shards tinkled all around us. As one, we turned towards the larger mirror, and 2p!China, his eyes no longer dull with opium, was turning towards us, murder in his eyes. I noticed out of the corner of my own eye that, luckily for our identity-hiding, Romano was wearing some kind of festival-dragon-monster uniform, complete with a mask, and as I saw 2p!China lunge for the mirror's surface, Prussia came hurtling through the doorway and hit the mirror with all his considerable strength.

It shattered like a thin sheet of ice, and I saw the world re-align itself in those fragments as they also pattered to the ground. Prussia was wearing a dragon costume as well, and even as I stood to congratulate (and thank) them, I heard a wonderfully familiar –and unfortunately irritated– voice from behind me.

"What the hell, aru! My mouth tastes like poppy and there's glass all over my floor! WHAT HAVE YOU WESTERNERS DONE TO MY HOUSE, ARU?!"

As one Prussia, Romano, and I pointed to each other vindictively.

" _You_ explain."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-Posted: February 4th, 2020, 11.40 PM USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: November 28th, 2014, 8.31 PM, USA Central Time


	13. In Which Things Get Unlucky

_Arya's POV:_

It was taking a long, _long_ time to explain things to China. He point-blank refused the possibility of "evil versions of us, aru" and more than likely thought this was all some kind of prank that Prussia had thought up.

Romano banged his fist on the table. "Listen _idiota_ , we _are_ telling the truth!"

China folded his arms like a petulant child. "I do not believe such a ridiculous story, aru! How do I know this isn't one of Prussia's stupid tricks?!" he shot back, and Romano began muttering under his breath in Italian, smacking his hand over his eyes.

I pulled off my cap and sat down beside them. "Well Mr. China, there is the fact that Romano and I are here, and I know you don't know me, but how likely is it for _Romano_ to take part in one of Prussia's pranks?" I asked him with my head tilted to the side, and he blinked and held his long-sleeved hand to his mouth.

"I hadn't thought of it like that…wait, so are you saying I _was_ possessed, aru?!"

Romano and I looked at each other.

"Pretty much." I said with a shrug, looking back to China, and there was a _crash_ from somewhere inside the house.

"AND QUIT MESSING UP MY STUFF, ARU!" China yelled over his shoulder at Prussia, who was "investigating" the premises for anything the 2p had left behind. I pulled out my "case notebook" and a pen from the bag Romano had given me with my usual pocket items inside, since the dress had only one smallish, shallow one on the right hip.

"So Mr. China, a few days before you began feeling weird, were you chased by anyone? Any _thing?_ Did someone throw something at you? Like dirt?"

He blinked and frowned, looking up as if in remembrance. "Well there was that one time I came to answer the door and some weird person in a dragon mask threw a powder at me, but I thought it was because of the festival…what are you doing, aru?"

I had begun frantically writing as soon as he said "threw a powder at me", and Romano had swallowed hard.

"So, do you have any _memories_ of after you called and said you were feeling pretty fine, but still weird? After you "disappeared"?" I asked, and he blinked.

"Well…not really. It's all kinda vague, aru, but I do remember feeling very…attracted…towards opium. Does that help?"

I made what I hoped was a reassuring smile and nodded. _Not at all._

"Well, thank you for your help, we'll just be going now." I said as I capped my pen and put both it and the notebook in my bag, and we both stood as China looked up at us. I gave him a salute. "Please try as best you can to stay away from mirrors, and if someone throws powder at you again, text this number." I gave him Prussia's number, and we stopped to collect the former nation (currently doing acrobatics in the hallway with his dragon mask on) and dragged him out.

As we settled into our hotel room and I undressed from the ridiculous Chinese costume, beginning to strip the makeup off with a sponge and some rubbing alcohol, I took my journal out and began to log in that particular day.

> `Day 35, "Hetalia" Reckoning`
> 
> `(Song)Quote for the Day:`
> 
> `"They will possess you, unless you change the number on your dial." –Song `
> 
> `We'll be splitting up soon, since Prussia pointed out that the 2p!s that we "sent back" or eradicated in our world would probably be in communication with the other, non-possessed 2ps, and tell them that someone else is onto them and is "fixing" the possessed countries. Prussia's going to be dealing with the Nordics (I was relieved, since I had no idea what they were like) and me and Romano'll handle the Europeans and everyone else, Russia, America, so on and so forth. `
> 
> `I told them we should leave England for last. Although this would give the 2p time to dig in and build up his defenses, as Prussia pointed out, I also think he'd be the only Second Player capable of forcing his way back even without a mirror; if we smash all of the mirrors near the nations and get rid of all the other 2p!s, he should be weakened enough so that he can't get back without help from our side, which of course won't be forthcoming. We argued this back and forth for hours, before Romano pitched in and said that even though Prussia knew more about strategy, I knew more about the Second Players, and it was decided to leave him for last.`
> 
> `Romano's awesome when he's not being a jerk. (I just hope I made the right decision here.)`
> 
> `So we're heading back to Italy tomorrow; we plan on freeing Spain and maybe some of the other Mediterranean nations; not 2p!Italy. Prussia says I'm being too paranoid, but I think I'm being justifiably cautious. The Axis and the ACE part of the FACE family are some of the most well-developed, and thus most likely the strongest 2p!s there are. We're saving them for last.`
> 
> `I'm also continuing as much of my training as possible, sit-ups, and whatever of the laps that I can get in. Prussia's been saying that I'm taking too much after his brother, but I don't want to be caught napping when the inevitable fight with one of the warier 2p!s starts. Especially if it's one of the ones who knows how to use a blade. `
> 
> `I just hope nobody gets hurt when we're weeding them out, or worse, captured and taken over. Then we'd all be in trouble.`

_***Time Skip***_

I hugged Prussia goodbye. He was boarding the plane to Denmark, where he'd start freeing the Nordics. Despite being an asshole and incredibly egotistical, deep, deep, _deep_ down, he was actually a pretty decent guy, especially when it came to helping us out. I'd miss his input, as well as his outrageous humor.

Prussia grinned and squeezed me tightly (he temporarily used his country strength, the asshole), then let me go. "Don't worry, ze awesome Prussia will take care of all this before they even know what hit them!" he crowed, making a fist, and I gave him a weak thumbs up, my side throbbing. The bruises had faded, a little, but my side was still very tender.

"Sure thing dude. Text us if you need help?"

He airily waved his hand. "Of course, it's all good. Well, see ya!" He made a hand motion at Romano (I couldn't see what, as it was over my shoulder) and then practically ran into the plane, "Kesese"ing all the way. Romano muttered something in Italian and gripped my shoulder.

"C'mon _krautlet_ , we still need to catch our own plane."

I nodded and picked up my bag. "Let's go."

_3rd Person POV:_

Arya was slumped against the window of the plane, her blonde hair fallen about her face. Romano was asleep beside her, snoring slightly. The American teen was wearing a plain white T-shirt and a light black jacket, over it, with no hood and no tassels. It was unzipped, showing the white underneath. Her jeans had a Gothic flower printed on the one pocket, but were otherwise plain. Her sneakers had been triple knotted, twice, so that absolutely no string hung off the sides. Romano was dressed in a white button-down shirt and some light brown slacks, as well as boots. The whole cabin shook just barely, and the words _"We have now arrived in Naples, Italy."_ woke them both, and a string of soft Italian followed the English instructions, most likely repeating them.

Arya rubbed one eye. "Eh, so we're here?"

Romano nodded and promptly retrieved her bag, tossing it to her. "Here."

She caught it with another yawn, and they both filed out of the plane with the other passengers as Arya swung her bag over her shoulder. She waited as he retrieved his own luggage case, still yawning. Genetics had imbued her with a good head for jet lag, but she wasn't immune.

As Romano elbowed his way back towards her, she happened to glance behind him and froze. She quickly dropped her eyes and went to meet the Italian nation, walking side by side as they headed for the bus terminal.

"Your _fratello's_ following us." Arya said cheerfully without turning around, and one amber eye moved to her.

"Is he…alright?"

"Not even remotely."

He swore under his breath in Italian, and she nodded empathetically.

"What now?"

He bit his lip. "Well, luckily we didn't take the round trip, so they can't trace us beyond Bari."

Arya let out a relieved sigh: Bari was an Italian city on the coast, so as far as the 2p!s knew, they had never left Italy. Bari was also the first place they had used their real names (Arya hadn't questioned how Romano managed to get her a passport), so they also couldn't be traced beyond _that._

She resisted the urge to look behind her. "So now what?" she asked, in reference to their tail.

Romano frowned. "I have an idea. Follow me."

He sped up, and she belatedly picked up her own pace, hurrying after him as he dragged his suitcase along. Although the crowded airport was extremely noisy, both _thought_ they could hear footsteps picking up behind them. They rounded a corner, and Romano sprang his trap.

* * *

Luciano frowned as he rounded the corner at a sprint, and he prey wasn't there.

He gripped the knife in his pocket, eyebrows knitting together and swearing under his breath as he slowed to a walk. It was rare that he bothered to come out and hunt for things _himself_ (that was what underlings were for), but when he did, things were damn well getting serious.

_First that idiotic Prussia, and now…those two?_

It was imperative that _no one_ knew about the plan. They could operate with the loss of one or two comrades, like Wang and Honda, but if they lost too many, the countries would start to wonder…

He gripped the knife in his pocket tighter. _No._ No way was he going to lose this body to that pasta-loving little coward. It was _his_ now, and he'd fight tooth and nail and knife to keep it.

Luciano narrowed his eyes as he flicked and unflicked his knife in his pocket, thinking.

_Those two don't know that the stupid little idiot is "sick". The girl will come back to Italy's house tonight, and if not tonight, soon. I'll kill her then, and take my idiot of a fratello afterwards. That idiota Prussia won't be able to deal with the rest of us on his own._

He grinned, a wicked shark's grin that made the other airport-goers edge away from him.

_I've found the little mice. Now all I have to do is rip their tails off._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-Posted: February 5th, 2020, 11.45 AM USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: November 29th, 2014, 12.21 USA Central Time


	14. In Which Its a Dark and Stormy Night

_Arya's POV:_

I was ordinarily a deep sleeper, but tonight, I felt…like that might be bad. The brewing thunderstorm outside didn't help the mood, especially since it looked to be a nasty one. The fact that Italy had practically stood over me when I was eating also only deepened my unease.

I was so nervous, in fact, that I had dressed for sleep in my old tanktop and fatigues, instead of the looser old-fashioned nightshirt and bottoms that I usually wore here at Italy's house. I'd also put my pocketknife under my pillow.

_You have no reason to suspect this…whatever **this** is, you know. I thought as I shuffled and turned over, my eyes closed. Relax, and stop being paranoid like Prussia says!_

With that conclusion, I turned over once more and peacefully closed my eyes.

I don't know if it was five minutes or five hours later, but I was awoken by a crash of thunder from the now-raging storm outside. My eyes shot open, and I gaped at the forks of lightning streaking the night sky outside my window, lighting the dark of my room with brief flashes of sharp white, and shuddered.

_What a nasty storm…_

Some instinct made the hairs on the back of my neck prickle. It was the same creeping feeling you had when playing Slender for the first time, or after reading or watching an especially scary movie or book. You felt like something was behind you, like every shadow was a monster, and every creak of the house was something sneaking up behind you. It was the distinctive feel of being _watched._

The feeling becoming unbearable, I half-turned in bed, and then shrieked.

The knife came down just as I frantically leapt out of bed, scrabbling my own out from under my pillow and flicking it open as I backed away rapidly.

Luciano smirked and withdrew his knife from my mattress, his magenta eyes glowing in the dark.

"Quick reflexes _signora."_ he chuckled, and lightning flashed, briefly outlining us both in silhouette. "But I don't think you can hide anywhere now." he added, pulling out another flick knife and unsheathing the blade, before flipping it in his hand and catching it by the hilt.

_Curse it, he's right. It's a howling storm out there, and he knows the house far better than I do. If I hide indoors, he'll find me. And if I hide outdoors…_

As if to negate that option, another barrage of thunder sounded, actually vibrating the ancient floorboards under our feet just a little.

I backed away from him, feeling for my bag and slinging it over my shoulder as Luciano gave another sinister smirk and followed.

"Oh, are you running?" he asked as he moved closer to me, and I swallowed as my back hit the icy cold glass of the bay windows.

"Look buddy, I don't want any trouble, but I sure as hell ain't going to be killed be a nutjob with a bunch of knives." I said as I fumbled for the catch behind me, and his magenta eyes darkened.

"You brought this on yourself, _cagna."_ 2p!Italy said darkly, and I frantically turned the catch as the door beside me burst open, howling wind and rain pelting through the gap. He lifted his arm slightly, covering his face, and I quickly darted out into the lashing storm, which met me with a blast of icy cold water in the form of many large raindrops. I heard Luciano scream something Italian from behind me, and I stumbled away best I could in the driving wind. It saved my life, actually, because just as an especially hard gust made me stagger, he threw a knife.

If _ever_ in my life I decide to use knives, I want to be as unbelievably good as 2p!Italy is.

Even though it was dark as pitch, driving rain, and the wind was both blowing hard and shifting unpredictably, he _still_ managed to throw a flick knife with enough force and accuracy to have stabbed me through the heart. I knew that because the same knife, due to my stumble, penetrated my shoulder deeply enough to poke through the other side.

I screamed and fell to my knees, clutching my left shoulder as I felt something warm and wet soaking my fingers at the same time freezing and wet water was soaking the rest of me, as well as my hand. I heard bootsteps behind me, and then I shrieked again as 2p!Italy grabbed me by the hair and jerked my head back, exposing my throat as he brandished another knife. His magenta eyes were wild with rage, perhaps because he "missed" his first shot, perhaps because I had nearly gotten away.

My heart pounded frantically in my chest as lightning flashed and thunder roared around us, the wind blowing our hair this way and that wildly, the rain pelting our bodies. My left shoulder and right hand were covered with dark red blood, turning lighter and lighter as it ran down my arms and mixed with the rainwater. He was about to cut my throat, I could see it in his eyes, and I was utterly terrified.

Luciano put the knife to the right side of my neck, pressing it down hard enough to draw blood, and I could tell he was about to slash it across my throat. On my knees, I couldn't do much to stop him, as I had dropped my own knife sometime between his throwing his knife and grabbing my hair. I moved my hand, slick with blood, and tried to grab his wrist, but Luciano was still a lot stronger than I was. I managed to get my feet underneath me as he struggled to bear his knife across my throat, no longer playing with the kill, and tried to kick him as I held the knife away, and we seemed to be at an impasse for a few precious moments.

I managed to knee Luciano in the crotch, and he hissed, his grip weakening for the one second I needed to push him away, rip my head out of his grasp, and run for the edge of the balcony. The nation snarled a curse and I felt him throw another knife, which lodged deep in my hip.

I whimpered and hauled my other leg over the edge, jumping, and howled with pain as I crashed into one of the bushes beneath my balcony, but I managed to roll over and start to try and drag myself away.

I was wet, muddy, soaked, and chilled to the _bone_ by the time I could crawl out of the tough branches, and I dragged myself upright using the helpful brick of the villa, starting to stumble away. I couldn't afford to do anything else, especially not since I heard Luciano crashing through the house, attempting to get to the ground floor and cut me off, as he knew better than to jump off the balcony like I did. I was lucky not to break my legs.

I fumbled my phone out of my pocket, trying not to pay attention to the blood covering my arm, and frantically dialed Romano's number.

 _"What do you want?!"_ he snarled from the other end, sounding like I had just woken him up. _"Do you know what **time** it is over here!?"_

I looked frantically around as I stumbled around the edge of the house, clutching the phone in a deathgrip. "ROMANO! HE KNOWS! HE KNOWS ABOUT US AND THE OTHER SECOND PLAYERS! HE KNOWS AND HE JUST TRIED TO KILL ME!" I sobbed, trying to be heard over the howling wind, getting lightheaded from the loss of blood.

 _"Wait what?! What are you talking about Arya, slow down! Where **are** you?!"_ he spluttered, and I started to stagger towards the cars.

"LUCIANO, THE 2P, ITALY'S 2P, HE KNOWS, HE KNOWS! HE JUST TRIED TO STAB ME! HE _DID_ STAB ME, TWICE!" I cried, and I faintly heard several slamming sounds, but I didn't know if they came from the other end of the phone or the house behind me.

_"Alright, krautlet, cool off, calm down, I'm coming over right now. Tell me where you are and where you plan to go."_

I nearly fell as I reached the cars, but I supported myself with one hand on the window to Italy's, whose keys I luckily had a duplicate of in my bag. "T-the cars in front of Italy's house. I-I'm going to take Italy's to Germany's house, 2p!Italy will expect me to head to yours."

_"Right, I'll meet you on the road."_

__

__

_3rd Person POV:_

Romano swore as he saw the car smoldering on the side of the road. The wind had eased off, but the rain was still pouring down around him. He parked his own car on the verge, then unbuckled himself and slammed his door open.

"ARYA! ARE YOU OUT HERE, _KRAUTLET?!"_ he called, putting his hands to his mouth, but there was no answer. He hurriedly scrambled down the muddy slope and wrenched open the door, then swore. Arya was slumped in the driver's seat, completely soaked, with her blonde hair several shades darker and hanging around her face, dressed in nothing but a thin black tanktop and sweatpants, either unconscious or-

"Shit! Hey _krautlet_ , you aren't dead in there, are you?!" he snapped as he shook her roughly, then noticed the blood smeared all over her arms and the inside of the car, as well as her car seat. He also saw the black-and-silver handle projecting from her left shoulder, and the one just above her hip.

He cursed again and yanked both of them out, then slung her uninjured arm over his shoulder and pulled her out of the car. "You better not have hypothermia when we get to the hospital." he muttered as he dragged her to his car, stumbling a little through the muck.

He buckled the human in, noting the steady flow of blood from her shoulder. "And don't die of bloodloss in the meantime either, you bitch." he ordered as he tore the hem of his shirt and roughly wrapped a strip of it over the wound, jerking the binding tight. She mumbled and twitched a little, and then her brown eyes slowly squinted open.

"Eh…Romano!"

He blinked at her as he buckled himself in. "Oh, so you're awake now, _after_ I dragged your ass through the storm and the muck and the rain?!" he barked, and she chuckled weakly.

"Hehe, sorry about that…ow."

She winced and grabbed at her shoulder, then blinked. "A bandage? Wow, thanks dude."

Romano hunched his shoulders, looking irritable as he started up the car. "Don't make a fuss over it, you're a woman and it's my job as an Italian to take care of you if you're in trouble." he snorted, waving his hand at her dismissively. "Now, let's get you to a hospital."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-Posted: February 5th, 2020, 11.52 PM USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: November 29th, 2014, 3.43 PM, USA Central Time


	15. In Which The Gang Splits Up & Regroups

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was watching HetaOni while writing this chapter, and is it just me, or does it seem like the creator was borrowing a thing or two from Higurashi? Repeating time loops, false memories, not knowing where you stand, everybody's going crazy…maybe it's just me.

_Arya's POV:_

"Uh, hey, Prussia?"

_"DO NOT WORRY FRAULIEN, ZE AWESOME PRUSSIA IS HERE FOR YOU NOW! DO NOT PANIC! EVERYTHING WILL BE ALRIGHT!"_

I sweatdropped. _I_ was feeling fine, a bit lightheaded, and my shoulder and hip ached a lot, but other than that, I was perfectly fine from surviving my first murder attempt.

Okay…maybe a little freaked out.

And maybe I begged Romano to stay with me every night in case Luciano found us. And maybe I had one or two or three nightmares about the incident. The _important thing was_ , my physical health was as good as it could be, what with being stabbed twice and wandering around in a thunderstorm and then passing out and crashing my car on the side of the road.

Anyway, Romano had driven me to a small, run-down hospital on the outside of Munich, and I was calling Prussia to inform him of my recovery, or at least the beginnings of it.

It wasn't exactly easy.

"Look, Prussia, dude, I'm fine." I said into the phone, and he laughed weakly.

_"It's alright to put on a brave front fraulien, now how bad is it?! Are you going to have to amputate!? Is it infected?! ARE YOU GOING TO DIE!?"_

Several tick marks appeared on my forehead. Ooh, how I wished he was in arm's reach, so I could strangle him.

"PRUSSIA I'M FINE! THERE'S NO INFECTION, MY WOUNDS AREN'T FATAL, AND I'VE ALREADY BEEN GIVEN ENOUGH BLOOD SO I WON'T DIE OF BLOOD LOSS EITHER!" I roared into the phone, and there was a moment of silence.

_"Kesese, I know that. I already talked to Romano when you were asleep, we both know you're fine."_

I sat there for a moment of stunned silence, my temper slowly smoldering to life.

"YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!" I shrieked into the phone, and he roared with laughter.

_I should've suspected something when he was so concerned about me._

"DON'T JOKE ABOUT THAT!"

_"KESESE! I WISH I COULD'VE SEEN YOUR FACE, FRAULIEN!"_

A gloom cloud grew over me.

_I hate him. I hate him so much._

"So, how're things in the north?" I asked as I leaned back against my covers, abruptly changing my mood, and he cackled.

_"Kesese, these losers are no match for ze awesome Prussia! Things are going great up here. Apparently that trick Romano pulled with the mirror works for all of them."_

I blinked twice. "Huh?"

Prussia sighed with false drama. _"You know fraulien, when he broke the mirror over zat one double's head. Apparently it sends zem back if you smash a mirror und they're touching it. Cool, huh?"_

I immediately took out my journal and scribbled it down. "Thanks man, that could really help us. So, how _are_ things with the 2p!s?"

He sighed. _"Romano's avoiding his brother, saying he's looking for you. Italy's distraught, supposedly, zat you disappeared or ran away or whatever. I snuck into ze house one time, there isn't a great big mirror like the others have had. Why do you think zat is?"_

I rubbed the back of my head. "I have no idea. Maybe it's in a hidden room or something, or the strongest 2p!s don't need a mirror to cross over, at least not after a while. Maybe he was so desperate to catch us that he just sorta took over. If so, that means they do know what their originals are thinking or seeing, so that's not good."

Prussia grumbled under his breath in what I thought was German. Hard to tell when it was so quiet.

"Speaking of me, what about Germany? What'd you guys tell him?" I asked curiously, feeling concerned. Germany had been a good friend, and inadvertently saved my life several times during the 2p hunt because of his grueling workouts.

_"Italy came to him whining und wailing about you being missing, so he knows zat version. We aren't sure whether or not to tell him ze real one."_

I sighed and nodded. "Perfectly reasonable I guess, yeah. I do _not_ want 2p!Germany after us."

_"I'm curious, what's zat one like?"_

I sighed again and ran my fingers through my hair, thinking. "He's a hell of a lot lazier, he's got fuchsia eyes, a scar on his left cheek, he likes cats, and is way more perverted. In the 2p!verse or whatever, he takes orders from Italy and not the other way around. There are a bunch of other conflicting details, but those are the ones most of them agreed on."

There was a moment of silence, and then he chuckled. _"Wow, West sure knows how to pick 'em."_

I sweatdropped. "I don't think you can choose your Second Player…" I mumbled, and he snickered again.

There was a pause, then he hesitantly asked _"So…what's mine like?"_

I squinted. 2p!Prussia was _not_ one of the better developed Second Players. "I think he looks a lot like you, except he has scars and is usually very depressed and kinda a bit of a buzzkill. He has self-esteem problems too, I think."

_"Zat me is decidedly unawesome."_

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, whatever. So, now that I'm down and out, how're we going to go about this?"

Romano shoved open the door as I was speaking, eating a packet of chips.

_"Well, I've practically finished things up here with ze Nordics, maybe Romano can go over und check things in ze Americas while I take care of Europe?"_

I looked at said Italian as he finished up his most recent chip. "You think you're good for going to America?"

Romano glowered at me. "Why can't you come with?!" he groused, and I pointed to my left side.

"I got _stabbed!"_ I spluttered, and he folded his arms pettishly.

"You can still _move_ can't you?!"

We began a lengthy, shouted argument, with insults flying thick and fast and many angry hand gestures from the both of us, until one of the nurses came in and told Romano if he didn't stop shouting he'd be removed from the premises for disturbing the patients. Prussia chipped in helpfully from my phone as soon as the ringing silence fell. _"They said you'd be better in a few weeks, Romano und me can clear out Europe by then, und then you can go to America with him."_

I stared at the phone in shock. "Prussia, you made a relevant suggestion. A _helpful_ relevant suggestion."

_"Kesese, I have to keep you losers on your toes. Over and out!"_

The phone clicked off.

_***One Week Later***_

I was playing Bejeweled Blitz on my phone one rainy Thursday afternoon after our planning and subsequent split-up last week, using my left arm for the first time since what felt like forever. The wound was all closed, although they said it would leave a scar for quite a while before fading, and the one on my hip had luckily missed all the important arteries and my bone, so _it_ was also well on the way to recovery. The nurse (the same one who had all but kicked Romano out last week) who had charge of me said that I could go home tomorrow, provided I didn't do anything strenuous like running, gymnastics, arm wrestling, etc. for another two weeks, and even then to take it lightly, unless I wanted my arm to possibly get damaged for the rest of my life.

In other words, I couldn't do anything _useful_ in the crusade against the Second Players for the next two weeks, like defend myself. I wasn't happy with that, but hey, you couldn't have anything, and I was just glad I wasn't staying in the vulnerable hospital anymore.

The door slammed open, and I looked up as Romano marched into the room, along with Prussia. "Are either of you capable of opening a door quietly?" I asked absently as I swiped my finger across the screen, and Prussia cackled.

"Kesese, of course not. How's the arm?"

I had been allowed to change back into what I was beginning to think of as my combat pajamas, and I gave him a thumbs up with my injured arm. "Practically good as new, although it still twinges when I move. I'm due to be released tomorrow, but I'm not supposed to do anything strenuous, like exercise and combat, for two whole weeks. Are you guys sure you can't just like zap me healed like when you get hurt?"

Prussia shook his head. "Nah, I can't 'cause I'm not an official country anymore." he said in a rare moment of seriousness, as well as self-crimination, and gave a pointed look at Romano, who waved his hands in front of himself defensively.

"Look buddy, I'd love to," he said in haste. "-but we need to get approval from our bosses, since it borrows health from our citizens to impart into us, and I _don't_ want to have to explain this to mine. Who knows, he might be in on it."

We all nodded sadly.

"So," I said as I flexed my right arm a few times. "How's it been?"

They both looked at each other, and then Prussia went to check the hallway as Romano looked out the window. I was on the ground floor, and luckily there weren't any shrubs or bushes or things that could hide a malignant visitor. Romano closed the window just as Prussia did the same for the door, and we all made a circle as they stood next to the bed and I scooted closer.

"We've had a few close calls. Ever since you two slipped up or whatever und Italy's 2p caught you, they've been a lot more vigilant, hiding their mirrors, so on und so forth. I had to tangle with 2p!Russia one-on-one yesterday –fucker gave me a real hard time too. See?"

Prussia pulled his shirt to one side, showing many healing bruises marked on his shoulder and torso. "Apparently he likes to use a metal pipe too, und he's good with it."

I whistled under my breath. Anybody who could wield a metal pipe with enough force and efficiency to bruise a country –even a former one– for that long was formidable. "You got him though, right?"

Prussia snorted and waved a hand at me. "Of course I did, I'm ze awesome Prussia after all!"

Romano and I deadpanned. "Of course…" we both muttered, and I looked at Romano.

"How about you?"

A body-length shudder ran down his form. "I had to deal with the doubles of Lichtenstein and her _fratello_ Switzerland. She's very _loud."_ he whimpered, and I patted his shoulder comfortingly. Prussia folded his arms behind his head and leaned back in the plastic hotel chair, putting his feet up on my bed.

"So, we've taken care of all the "minor" 2ps. Now we start on the major. So _fraulien_ , who first?" he asked me predatorily, and I frowned and tapped my finger against my phone case.

_2p!England's most likely still too strong…2p!America is too violent for me in my current state…same goes for 2p!Canada…and Romano took out 2p!France last Sunday, 2p!Germany hasn't appeared yet…but 2p!Italy's more than prepared for us…_

A hopefully-brilliant plan popped into my head, just like flipping on a switch. "Alright then, so let's kill two birds with one stone…"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-Posted: February 5th, 2020, 12.01 PM USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: November 30th, 2014, 8.29 PM, USA Central Time


	16. In Which There Are Several Crashes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story honestly progressed much faster than I thought it would…which is one of the many reasons I like to start with an idea, then establish an end, and then just let my thoughts meander randomly until I get to said conclusion. With correctly developed characters, the story just leads itself! (Sucks for some scenes I wanted to put in though, because I'd be like "Oh, but Arya wouldn't do that", or "Crap, that wouldn't work since she did such-and-so…") 
> 
> Anyway. On with the story.

_Arya's POV:_

"You know, this seemed so much more legit when we discussed it earlier." I deadpanned, staring at Germany's house from the shelter of several conveniently-placed bushes in the park nearby.

Prussia snorted from beside me and slapped my back. "You're a smart girl, you'll think of something!" he snickered cheerfully, and I glowered at him as he pulled out his phone and dialed Romano.

"How're things in pasta country?" Prussia asked wickedly, and I heard my friend's angry voice on the other end.

 _"I'll have you know the bastardo who took my fratello over is chasing me right now, so yeah, I'd say it's going pretty fucking well!"_ he snarled, and I went pale as Prussia cackled and turned the phone off.

 _"That_ was your distraction?!" I whisper-shrieked, and he grinned.

"Kesese, it got his attention, didn't it?"

I ground the heels of both hands into my temples. _Don't lose your temper, don't lose your temper, don't lose your temper…_ I thought repeatedly to myself, then sighed and looked up.

"So I'd better hurry up, shouldn't I?"

"Probably. Good luck, _fraulien!"_

I sweatdropped as I crept out from under the bushes. "I'll need it…" I muttered to myself as I dusted off my clothes, then straightened my back and marched up to Germany's house.

I took in a deep breath, then knocked on the front door.

 _I got this, I got this, it won't go wrong, I got this._ I repeated stoically to myself as I heard footsteps echo from inside the hallway, clenching my fists inside my pockets. _But more than ever…if I mess up on this one, I'm dead. And not just me, Prussia and Romano too. I can't afford to make a single mistake._

The door opened, and I affixed a sheepish smile on my face.

 _"Hallo, kann ich_ –Arya?!"

Germany stared at me, his mouth hanging. I chuckled nervously and rubbed the back of my neck.

"Hehe…sorry, Germany, things have been kinda hectic lately, so…I haven't been able to contact you or…um, Italy. Listen, can I come in?"

He regained his voice and nodded, ushering me inside. "Of course! We've been worried sick, did you find your parents? Zat was why you were gone, right?"

I looked around his house. Nothing was visibly untidy…but that only meant 2p!Germany hadn't gotten a really firm grip on his original yet.

"Not… _exactly_ …"

He waved me into the kitchen and poured a cup of coffee. "Here, drink this und tell me the whole story. You're…shaking a bit, is something wrong?"

Germany's bright blue eyes held only honest concern, and I tore my own away from his kitchen and smiled in what I hoped wasn't a sickly way. "Er, yeah, sorry…I've been under a lot of stress."

 _Is he serious? Did I…did I make a mistake? I-I thought I had calculated it all out…_ I thought pensively as I looked down at the dark black drink, then pretended to take a sip. _Even if he does seem to be completely under his own influence…I still shouldn't trust him. We're still a-go on this plan. Not like I **can** stop it, anyways._

Germany began rustling around the kitchen, fetching his own mug and slowly pouring a cup for himself. "I…well, it's a bit complicated." I said to his back. "Can I trust you to believe me, _Deutschland?_ It's all pretty crazy…"

His hand jerked a little bit. "Trust me? _Ja…ja_ , of course." he said vaguely, almost in a dazed tone of voice, then more firmly. He shook his head slightly, as if clearing it, and walked back to the kitchenette counter. His eyes were downcast, and I bit my lip.

"So…well, um…it's kinda hard to figure out where to start."

Getmany rubbed his forehead. _"Ja…"_ he muttered, as if his head hurt. My fists, hidden under the table, tightened.

"Are you okay, Germany?" I asked hesitantly, shifting a little on my seat.

He rubbed his forehead gingerly, his shoulders tensing a little bit. _"Nein_ …my head just hurts all of a sudden. You were saying something about…starting?"

I rubbed my thumb over my knee. "Well, it started a few weeks ago when those guys chased Romano…"

I blinked and leaned forward. "Uh, Germany, did you hurt yourself earlier?"

His tired blue eyes blinked up at me, clearly confused. _"Was…nein._ W-why?" he mumbled, and I tapped my own cheek in demonstration, my own face screwed up in confusion.

"You've got like a scar, right here."

He put his hand to his cheek dazedly. _"Nein_ …I-I haven't hurt myself recently…wait, _nein_ , I did. Luciano…he cut me when we were…no, what am I saying?!" he slurred, his voice going slightly deeper, then rising to his normal tone abruptly, with alarm, his head lowering on his neck as if under unbearable auditory pressure.

"I didn't hurt myself recently…no, I didn't." he finally said in a clearer voice, looking up at me and attempting a smile. I didn't smile back.

"Uh…right…" I said between my teeth, then stood up and backed about five paces away, taking my new pocketknife out of my pocket and opening it with a flick. Germany looked alarmed, starting to come to his feet.

"Arya, what are you-"

I cut him off, aiming the knife at my friend threateningly as he stopped. "Look buddy, I know you're trying to come out, and I just fucking _dare_ you to try it. I got rid of the other ones, and I'll get rid of you too." I said challengingly, and Germany blinked twice in alarm, clearly thinking I was insane.

"Arya, listen-"

He suddenly blurted a curse in German and staggered, clutching his head.

"Ngh… _was zur Hölle?"_ Germany gasped, then cried out and fell.

I flexed the fingers of my injured hand unconsciously, taking another deep breath to try and calm myself.

At length there was another, quieter curse in German, and then the body on the floor rose. His coat was hanging on his shoulders instead of buttoned up, and he was wearing a loose white tank top under it. The blond man's eyes were a bright fuchsia, and the scar on his left cheek was now clearly defined. 2p!Germany smirked at me dangerously as he pulled his coat the rest of the way off, flexing his much-bigger muscles as he laid it on the table.

"You're a brave one, _kätzchen."_

I trembled slightly, the _wrongness_ radiating from him in waves, but stepped back to brace my foot against the edge of the kitchen door. "Tough talk coming from a copycat _arschloch."_ I snarled, hiding my absolute terror, or trying to, and he smirked and confidently walked around the small island. Hell, why wouldn't he be confident? I was a human, he was a country (even if he was an evil one), and he could probably crush my skull like an eggshell with one hand while holding off my tiny little knife with the other and not even break a sweat.

Luckily for little 'ol me, I had backup.

"PRUSSIA! NOW!" I screamed, and 2p!Germany stopped short, an alarmed look on his face. But it was too late for him to do anything. With an almighty bellow, Prussia broke through the window (when I described the plan to him, I had a feeling he had wanted to do that for a while) and landed on the floor. 2p!Germany instantly turned to face him, disregarding me as a threat, and I quickly picked up the oval mirror Prussia had snuck into the kitchen earlier. Heaving it up, feeling the barely-healed wound in my shoulder twinge in protest, I staggered forward and hit it as hard as I could across the back of 2p!Germany's head.

He crumpled to the floor without a sound, and I saw the shards of the mirror glass glittering darkly underneath his body. They were momentarily distorted, showing a kitchen just like Germany's, but far more cluttered, and then the shards cleared, showing the same kitchen as normal as the light in them brightened.

Prussia dropped his combative stance, then approached his younger brother nervously. "Eh...West?"

He knelt beside Germany, lifting the remains of the mirror back off his brother.

 _Oh shit, did I just somehow kill Germany?_ I thought in panic, my face going pale. Prussia felt for his pulse, then abruptly relaxed.

"Never mind…he's just knocked out. Probably better for us that way, too."

I nodded twice, relieved. Then I swallowed.

"So…now 2p!Italy?"

Prussia pumped his fist and grinned. "Hell ya!"

I quickly scribbled out an apologetic note to Germany, then followed the former nation outside to get in the car to drive to Italy. Prussia called the driver's seat and I slid into shotgun, buckling myself in. We were planning on the ability of the 2p!s to communicate across long distances, however they did it, to alert 2p!Italy to the fact I had just taken care of 2p!Germany.

I swallowed and fingered the knife in my pocket. _And when he **does** find out…_

It was only about five minutes later when 2p!Italy took us out in the mother of all car crashes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-Posted: February 5th, 2020, 12.08 PM USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: December 1st, 2014, 8.55 PM, USA Central Time


	17. In Which Shards of Things Hurt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh friendly trigger warning I guess? I describe a car crash here, and like I've never BEEN in a really traumatic one, so I don't know how much I capture that feeling, but since I like to think I do so rather well, well...
> 
> Car crash warning.

_Arya's POV:_

Everything slowed down, and white flashed before my eyes as the unholy _screech_ of metal on asphalt and metal on metal filled my ears. Everything after that split second of terror became a tumbling nightmare of dark metal, heat from the car, the sun, and what felt like blood, and flashes of light that seemed to be the sky, Prussia and myself, with a horrible sickening, whirling sensation of smashing _against_ the side of the car, _into_ the windowshield, _slamming_ into the other body in the car, and finally a long grinding _crunch_ as the car skidded to a halt, the both of us upside down and hanging from our seatbelts.

My ears were ringing, my vision was somewhat skewed, and I saw Prussia groan and make a motion to hold his head, something crimson dripping off his silver bangs, but his seatbelt restrained his arm. _"Scheiße_ …Arya, you okay?"

My stomach lurched, and I weakly clawed at my seatbelt, my head spinning. "Imma gon' throw up…" I croaked hoarsely, my gorge rising.

He hissed something else in German and suddenly I was on the floor –roof– covered with shattered glass and metal shards, and he was holding my seatbelt button down. "Thks…" I managed to gulp, before I had keeled over and was retching my guts out. Right now, I didn't give a shit about who had most likely hit us, I just wanted the world to stop spinning and my stomach to stop lurching.

Spots swam in front of my eyes, and finally I took a couple of deep gasps before shakily wiping my mouth and looking up. Prussia tactfully kicked the door open on the opposite side of my vomit and staggered out; I crawled after. By some miracle, I only had a hell of a lot more cuts, and a large amount of bruises, and probably some glass shards here and there: but no broken bones, _probably_ no concussions, and I hadn't died. Of course, now I was rather certain we had to deal with a pissed-off-

"FUCK YOU, YOU SON OF A BITCH!"

I clung to the shattered remains of the car and pulled myself up: it seemed Prussia, whether coincidentally or by design, had taken the brunt of the crash, and I could _see_ the shrapnel in his arms and legs, as well the way he held his side like he had broken a rib or two. However, he was healing, if not rapidly, steadily, and it looked like he needed to be, because a certain pissed-looking Italian was advancing from the wreckage of another car, one I recognized as Italy's precious red convertible. The smaller nation had knives between the fingers of his left hand in a suspiciously Wolverine-like style, and was brandishing another, longer one (in the usual way) in his right hand. It looked like the one I had found in Italy's car, so maybe it was his favorite or something like that.

 _Oh…shit._ was my succinct and only thought, and from the absolutely furious look in 2p!Italy's magenta eyes, it was a correct statement. We didn't have a sufficient mirror large enough to smash over him or push him through, and from the insults flying thick and fast between him and Prussia, we weren't going to be given the chance to find one.

 _Not that there would be many mirrors in the middle of nowhere._

I looked around vaguely for a weapon, but I was still dizzy as hell from the crash, and I literally swayed on my feet as I gripped weakly at the shattered body of the car.

 _"Fraulien_ , we're not all that far from West's house. Run along and fetch him, would you?" Prussia said calmly, cracking his knuckles menacingly as he stopped clutching his side.

I stared at him. Prussia _never_ asked for _anyone's_ help. Ever.

The albino snorted and faked his usual laugh. "Kesese! I don't need help, I just –tch!– wouldn't want you to feel useless! Plus we need a mirror to absorb this little shit after I'm done beating the ever-loving pasta out of him!"

"Prussia, he's probably not-"

"GO!"

I whimpered a curse under my breath and began painfully limping back to Germany's house.

_***Time Skip***_

_"Deutschland! Deutschland!"_ I called raggedly, my head spinning worse than ever. The world swam before my eyes, and I had vomited twice more on the way here.

_"Deutschland, bitte!"_

His house was quiet, ominously so, but my only focus was getting help and then collapsing.

"Mnn…Arya? _Was…"_

I heard Germany's voice and stumbled towards the sound, remembering hazily that we had left him in the kitchen.

Germany was just getting to his feet as I staggered in, tiny shards of mirror in his hair and on his clothes. He turned towards me, a lost and dazed look in his eyes. _"Arya, was hast du-_ you look like you've been in a car crash!"

I nodded, a weak excuse for a chuckle echoing from within my aching chest. _"Ja_ , I mean, yeah, I have. Listen, we need a mirror with at least a square foot of glass. Prussia's in trouble, so's Italy."

His blue eyes widened. "What?! Arya, you're not making any sense, und you're going to fall over any second!"

From the way the world was spinning, he was probably right, but I didn't have time to collapse. "P-please Germany, _bitte_. Just take the road to Italy's house…with a mirror, as fast as you can. Find Prussia and give the mirror…to him, he's going to die if you don't! And Italy-" My stomach lurched as vertigo overtook me, and I slid to my knees. "Italy…" I gasped, clinging to the wall with one hand as black spots overcame my vision.

_No damnit, not yet! Not yet! I came all this way, not yet!_

"He's…"

I tried to say _"he's not himself, don't trust him,"_ but I don't know whether or not I managed to get it out before I went under.

_3rd Person's POV:_

Germany stared at the human as she collapsed, but he had no time to waste, judging by her injuries. Nor did he have the time to properly tend to them: Prussia and Italy were in trouble. He compromised with placing her on a couch, pulling out the worst of the shrapnel and hastily bandaging the worst of her wounds, then snatched a mirror hanging in the second-floor hallway and went to his car.

He put it in the front seat and turned the keys, his mind racing. His head hurt a lot, and memories were hazy…something about Arya coming over, and coffee, and then oooh his _head_ , and then falling and waking up and…what?

It was like he blacked out: Germany remembered doing _something_ , but what that something was totally eluded him. The next thing that came with any clarity was waking up amidst the wreckage of a strange mirror, not one that he owned, and Arya's voice in the hallway.

Germany glanced at the mirror by his side. _Does all this have something to do with the amnesia disease? Does Arya know something we don't?_ He thought uneasily, and his fingers tightened on the wheel. _And she said both Italy and Prussia were in trouble; two of the most important people in mein life…annoying as they both are. I have to help them. I may not have a clue about what's going on, but I **have** to help them._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-Posted February 5th, 2020, 12.16 PM USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: December 3rd, 2014, 9.43 AM, USA Central Time


	18. In Which We Sic 'Em

_3rd Person POV:_

Prussia, awesome as he was, was in trouble, and that was most assuredly _not_ awesome.

After he had sent the _fraulien_ off to fetch West, the Second Player/alternate/double/whatever-the-hell-he-was had attacked him in earnest, most likely because he most _definitely_ did not want said help to be forthcoming. In a fistfight, Prussia would've been his most awesome equal, but when the 2p had fucking knives, and knew how to use them, and was really, _really_ fast, Prussia found himself contemplating the concept of _running away_ , which was by far the most unawesome thing to do in this kind of situation. If he ran now, the 2p would either follow him into the woods, which would throw West off the track, or he would go after the _fraulien_ , who wouldn't stand a chance against him even if she _did_ find Germany, because both would be disoriented and West would possibly be still wounded. Arya hadn't gotten the worst of it, as far as being in a fucking car crash went, but she was still a human, and it had hit her human body hard.

"So, why are you doing this, eh?" Prussia taunted, holding his bloody shoulder as the 2p circled him, the gleam of bloodlust and anger still bright in his eyes. "Face it _dummkopf_ , we're all onto you at zis point. It's futile to keep trying to take us over." he added smugly.

The double's magenta eyes flashed angrily. "You fucking _idiotas_ don't even know what you have here. You have _life_ and completeness and a whole world of your own, and you _squander_ it by fucking playing around _all the time_. We're done being the neglected "other half" of your happy little lives. If you don't know how good you have it, we're going to remind you by taking it _away!"_ 2p!Italy snarled, lunging forward and slashing at him with the knives held in his left hand. Prussia dodged and flashed his foot forward, aiming a kick at the 2p!'s wrist. Quick as thought, the Italian whipped his other hand around and cut the tendons in that leg, and Prussia hissed and backed away rapidly on one foot as the tissue began slowly mending.

 _Not being a country anymore really fucking sucks! This is **so** not awesome! Back in my glory days, I could've kicked this little shit from here all the way back to Italy with one hand tied behind my back!_ He thought angrily, testing his ankle as the 2p chuckled and began to advance.

The sound of a car was the most musical thing in the world, seconded only by the shout of his _bruder_. 

"PRUSSIA! AND YOU TOO, I…ITALY?!"

Prussia cursed under his breath. Arya must've just been able to tell him to get help and come with a mirror, she hadn't been able to tell him about the 2p!s before fainting or dying or whatever she had done.

_That is so unawesome._

He risked glancing over his shoulder, only to see Germany staring at both him and 2p!Italy with an expression of pure shock and a tiny bit of revulsion. Prussia didn't blame him: the sickening aura that came from Italy was nearly enough to make _him_ hurl.

"WEST, WE DON'T HAVE TIME FOR EXPLINATIONS, JUST TOSS ME THE _VERDAMMT_ MIRROR!" he shouted as he dodged another knife swipe from the second player. Germany fumbled for the wrapped package, then got out of the car and shouted to him.

_"Preußen, hier!"_

Prussia turned, jumped, and just barely caught the mirror before a line of fire marked itself on his ribs and stomach. He hissed in pain before collapsing to the road, blood pouring from his stomach.

"Italy! Stop!" Germany shouted, his fists trembling as he looked from one of them to the other in confusion, trying to decide what to do. Prussia snickered weakly as he pulled the mirror out of its packaging.

"Told ya, we know who und what you are now." he croaked as he stood, grinning. "NOW!"

2p!Italy hissed in shock as something bound his arms from behind, struggling wildly as Prussia hefted the mirror above his head. _"Auf Wiedersehen~!"_ he sang happily with his trademark grin, and smashed the mirror down.

Black mist tore away from 2p!Italy's face as the knives clattered to the ground, and he sagged in the arms of–

Romano.

Both of them looked at each other, panting hard, as Italy's clothes and colors slowly reverted to his own, and Romano dropped him in the dust, then frowned. "Where's the _krautlet?"_ he asked, his eyes roving the track behind Prussia, and he laughed weakly.

"Got into a car crash, sent her to West's house, und after that, no idea."

Both of them turned to Germany, who was approaching the scene of the crime, taking turns at staring at Romano, Prussia, Italy, and the wrecks of the cars.

 _"Was… **was**..."_ he gasped, and Prussia slapped him on the back.

"Listen _bruder_ , it's a very long story, deserving of much beer and grateful accolades, so we'll tell you everything once we get home. Arya did make it to your house, didn't she?"

Pushed into a state past numbness, Germany nodded blankly. _"Ja_ , she's on a couch in the living room. Shrapnel wounds und some heavy bruising, but she's alive."

Romano bent down and took his brother's body by the wrists. "Well, let's drag this little _idiota_ to the car and drive home."

_Arya's POV:_

My eyes cracked open, and I stared at the ceiling of what seemed to be Germany's living room. My whole body felt like it was on fire, but luckily my nausea had passed, so that was something.

I managed to work myself around so that I was laying on my side, and blinked as I saw Italy's body lying on the other couch, then froze as the implications of that worked through my pounded brain. I opened my mouth to scream, but just as soon as the impulse came upon me, it passed. Italy looked peaceful, normal, and more importantly, he was in his usual outfit and colors. I relaxed, or as much as I was able with my achy body, and sighed.

"Ahem."

I jumped and looked over, and saw Romano, Prussia, and Germany all sitting in the armchairs that had been scattered about the room, now pushed so that they sorta formed half of a square, with the two couches being two sides and one other left open. They all had dinner plates in their laps, and Prussia immediately levered back his spoon and flicked a pea at me.

The small green missile bounced off my nose and rolled somewhere on the floor as I gave him a withering glare. "I've been passed out from a car accident for who _knows_ how long, and the way you greet me is with a pea to the face?" I asked him croakily, and Prussia grinned.

"Kesese, you're just like West!"

Romano waved me down as I made a motion to sit up. "Don't try it _krautlet_ , the potato bastard got one of his doctors to look at you, and you aren't supposed to get up for at least another two days. Something about internal stress. In other words, you aren't to move a single inch until we say so."

I glared at him. "Then how am I gonna write in my journal?"

Romano took a bite of pizza. "You aren't." he said around what seemed to be several layers of cheese, and I began glaring daggers at him, doing my best to send a Russia-level aura of evil. He flinched.

Germany lightly bopped me on the head. "Stop zat. Now, what are we going to do about these 2p!s?"

I gave my comrades a shocked glare. "You _told_ him?!"

"He saw me fighting that douchebag Luciano." Prussia said, twirling his spoon carelessly between his fingers. He shrugged. "We had to tell him _something."_

"Fair enough."

Germany carefully placed a tray of food over my stomach, and I scooted backwards until my head was against the armrest and I could at least eat without choking. "So, now that I am more than officially laid up, what's the game plan? We still have to deal with 2p!America, Canada, and England, and they're the biggest baddies of the bunch." I said as I took a bite of some kind of potato and gravy dish Germany had predictably mashed up.

Romano cupped his chin. "Well now that we have the potato bastard _and_ his idiot _fratello_ for both muscle and infiltration, we don't really _need_ you anymore, except for information. You can give them that and they'll be off on their way."

Germany didn't miss the "they".

"Wait, aren't you going to help us Romano?" he asked in surprise. The Italian glared at him.

"I'm only here to make sure the _signorina_ doesn't get in over her head, it's one of the few things we Italians can pride ourselves on, besides pasta and white flags. Now that she can sic _you_ two on them, I'm out."

I frowned. "But what if they come after you?"

Romano snorted and leaned back. "Please, for one wayward Italian whose 2p doesn't even know how to fight? I think they'll leave me be."

He did have a point. 2p!South Italy was either a complete pansy _or_ interested in fashion-related killing only, neither of which would do the enemy any good. "So…what about me?" I asked nervously, and they all blanked.

"Uh…" Prussia murmured, looking at the front door. "They know she's at your house West, und they know she's basically helpless. If she stays here, I wouldn't place two Euros on her life."

Romano rubbed his temples with both hands, grimacing to himself. "Ah, I was really looking forward to going home and relaxing from this idiotic adventure."

Germany began to pace. "I can send her to one of my government's safe houses, zat will do until we get rid of the last three. Unless you two got rid of the Second Players for Hungary and Austria?"

Prussia held up his hand. "Both of zem, it was the easiest job I've ever done. Austria is a real loser, no matter which one he is!" he cackled, and Germany "hmmed" in thought.

"We could send her to them…"

I sighed and stared up at the ceiling as they sunk into various plans to keep me out of the reach of any 2p!s who came looking for revenge.

 _You know, I really hate being a burden, especially a wounded one._ I thought as the countries' voices faded in again from the background.

"-alright, so we'll send her to one of your government houses until we get done with the ones in the Americas, and then we'll come back and she'll hopefully be healed enough that we all can attempt an attack on 2p!Britain." Prussia said decisively, and I craned my neck.

"So does that mean I have to get up?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-Posted: February 5th, 2020, 12.24 PM USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: December 7th, 2014, 1.21 PM, USA Central Time


	19. In Which Things Get Rotten

_Arya's POV:_

_"Guten morgen Frau Schmidt."_ I said weakly as I lifted my head up from the pillow, watching the nurse Germany had sent skip into the room. Her name was Frau Schmidt and she was about twenty or thirty years old, brunette, with pretty blue eyes.

The older woman nodded to me cheerily. _"Guten morgen!"_ she agreed in a happy voice, bustling towards me and setting a breakfast tray in my lap. I licked my lips and sat up, wincing and trying to ignore the various twinges that sounded all over my body. Frau Schmidt was a good cook, but the amount of bruises all over my body made movement a bit painful.

I had doctor's clearance to move around (i.e. get out of bed) today though, so I was damn well going to try. It had been two days since I was more or less booted off the team, and I already felt antsy.

"Um, _ich…ich…_ " I mumbled, trying to remember the word for "want". "Ich möchte aufstehen heute?" I tried, and she raised her eyebrows.

_"Heute? Sind Sie verletzt?"_

It took me a second to translate, and then I looked down, wiggled a bit, and seesawed my hand back and forth as I looked back up.

_"Ein wenig…"_

She frowned, and I waited patiently for the verdict. My German was a hell of a lot better than it had been, pre- _Hetalia_ , but it was far from fluent and Frau Schmidt only spoke German, no English. (Neither of us was fluent enough in Italian to even bother trying.)

She was a pretty damn good nurse though, and an even better cook.

I watched as Frau Schmidt reached out and took my temperature, opening and closing my mouth as directed and sighing a little as the brunette fussed over me, clucking like a Germanic hen. Frau Schmidt also seemed to be a very mothering sort of person, which I guess suited her calling as a nurse rather well.

She finally took the thermometer out of my mouth and peered at it owlishly, then smiled. _"Ja, du kannst aufstehen heute."_

I whooped and quickly shoveled down the last few crumbs of my breakfast as she bustled back out.

The "safe house" Germany had sent me to looked mostly like a normal apartment block on the outside, only _inside_ nearly all the rooms were empty, and every last one had a two-inch thick steel door. There were a lot of cameras as well, and probably bugs, and I _knew_ there was some sort of security system installed for the windows, doors, and various other entrances, both conventional and otherwise. Apparently it was for risky diplomats and that sort of red-tape thing, though the exact details eluded me. (I also hadn't seen any yet, but I was fairly certain that a fleet of bodyguards prowled either the building or the surrounding area. Perhaps both.)

So I was as safe as safe could be. Frau Schmidt, the handyman, and the young intern at the front desk were all full-blooded Germans and spoke nothing but German, so unless the 2p!s got a hold of Austria, Prussia, or Germany himself (or one of the other Germanic nations), they couldn't touch me, as you needed high-level clearance to even enter the building.

So thinking, I left my pocketknife on my nightstand and cautiously slid out of bed. Every muscle in my body twinged in protest as I winced painfully, but I kept my somewhat shambling, limping walk up until I had reached the elevator, then the library, which was just next to the first-floor lobby. It was the only room in the place with wi-fi, which I needed to use the inter-language app I had installed on my phone. Immersion was working fast, but I wanted to be able to talk to Frau Schmidt and the others without groping for every other word.

Putting my headphones in, I lost myself in the struggle to learn the German language, frequently cursing under my breath at the dreaded grammar.

That is, until muffled yelling registered through the sound of "der, die, das"ing, and I yanked out my earphones with a frown.

Sound rushed in, and I heard more-distinctive yelling, coming from the lobby.

And it wasn't German yelling either.

It was only then that I noticed the uneasy, unsettlingly familiar feeling of twisting nausea in my stomach, and I froze.

With deliberate slowness, I unplugged my earphones from my phone and laid them on the side table, then typed out a message to Prussia and Romano, the only phone numbers I had saved.

> Someone's yelling in English in lobby. Got bad feeling. Going to check it out.

With equal slowness, I then put my phone in my fatigues (I was in my combat pajamas, oh how I loved them in this kind of situation) and crept out of the library.

The library and lobby were on the same side of the hallway, with some bathrooms and offices in the other wall. The elevators were directly across from the lobby entrance, of which there were no doors. (I had heard whispers that they were metal slabs that could lock in a few seconds.)

A dark, black, glasslike substance, polished to a mirror shine, formed the lobby's rear wall and exit, which I was approaching, and I peeked around the edge, my heart in my mouth. As I had approached the lobby, the yelling had gotten a lot louder, a lot more distinct, and a lot more ominous.

"ALL I'M ASKING IS IF YOU FUCKING PEOPLE HAVE ONE FUCKING GUEST! _EIN!_ ONE YOU FUCKING KRAUT, ONE! _GODDAMNIT!"_

I swallowed hard, my suspicions confirmed. A man about my own height with a bomber jacket, tan skin, and a suspiciously familiar hairstyle in the wrong color was haranguing the intern, gesturing wildly to make his point. She was shaking her head, repeating _"Ich kan nicht sprechen"_ over and over again, eyeing him nervously.

She was right to be nervous: the darkly tanned man might be lithe, but there was defined musculature under his coat, and his movements and tone carried a threat of violence all their own. His black glasses were on his eyes for once, probably to hide their unusual color, and he didn't have a baseball bat full of nails, but even then I'd have to be blind and deaf not to recognize 2p!America.

I swallowed hard. _Shit._

This wasn't good –and how the HELL had he found my safehouse?

Wait.

Mirrors.

The lobby wall was just as reflective as a mirror. And if 2p!America wasn't alone-

Just as that thought came to me, a rush of vertigo and a hand wrapping around my elbow with a grip of iron warned me to the presence of another 2p as they yanked hard, trying to pull me in.

I staggered backwards, away from the lobby entrance, and yanked back. The mirrorlike wall rippled: a Canadian Mounty uniform, messy blonde ponytail, dull purple eyes, and a dangling cigarette told me _exactly_ who I was dealing with as 2p!Canada spat an oath at me and yanked harder.

I bit my lip harshly enough that I tasted blood as I struggled against him: my whole body was aching demonically, warning me of the stress I was putting it under, but I instinctively knew that I COULD NOT allow him to pull me in, no matter what the consequences.

The problem was, even in my best condition, I could tell 2p!Canada, as a nation, would have been a hell of a lot stronger than me, and now, when I was more or less at my weakest, he had the distinct advantage.

My elbow touched the glass, and there was a split second of icy cold, and then my eyes widened as I was partially pulled _through_ the mirrored surface.

Every instinct in me revolted against it as the icy sensation reached my wrist, the rest of me in that _other_ world: it was _**wrong**_ , wrong in a shuddering, bone-deep way that made me feel sick to my stomach. I braced my feet against the wooden wainscoting and _pulled_ , and my arm slipped out of the mirror a few inches, then sank back in as he gave a vicious pull in revenge.

I wasn't going to make it.

I tried one last time, then swore under my breath and fished in my pocket. I had nothing but my phone and some lint, but as I scrabbled at the worn fabric, I could feel one of the metal buttons loosen up. I ripped it off and dropped it on the ground just as 2p!Canada lost patience and _yanked_ me through the glass with all his strength. It made me stumble forward headlong, and by that time 2p!Canada got his other hand around my neck, and there was no way I could resist without breaking it.

He pulled me roughy into the mirror, and I shivered violently as a wash of iciness broke over my body, and then my stomach churned violently as I stumbled onto some worn, rotting floorboards, the very epitome of difference from the soft carpet I had been standing on before.

2p!Canada surprisingly let me go, and I whirled, hoping to find a mirror, glass, _anything_ , only to see –a sigil. It reminded me vaguely of the ones England had used in the anime, but this one was clearly different, laid into the mildewed floorboards with some kind of equally tarnished metal.

I immediately turned around again, backing away from 2p!Canada, who watched me with a sneer on his face, but didn't move otherwise.

He then took a cellphone out of his pocket and held it carelessly to his ear, pressing a call button. There was a split second, and then someone barked something at the other end. 2p!Canada answered, his dull purple eyes still fixed unwaveringly on me. "I got the bitch. You can come back now." he said calmly, then turned the phone off and put it in his pocket again.

In the meantime, I had managed to work my way nearly behind the sigil, and had also managed to get a decent scope of the room at the same time. Everything had a faint tinge of decay, rust, or decomposition, except for 2p!Canada himself and the battered hockey stick leaning against the far door, directly behind him. This seemed to be a former living room, as drag marks on the floor indicated there had once been furniture here. There was a moldering table and chair pushed in the corner on one side, then a real (tarnished) mirror hanging on the wall opposite them.

But since moving towards it would take me closer to the 2p, as well as the fact the mirror reflected a perfectly "ordinary" (in other words, the same) living room, I decided not to go for it. There was an old chest of drawers on my right and on the far side of the sigil on the floor, a door on my immediate left that seemed to lead to the kitchen, and another one behind me. 2p!Canada seemed to be standing in front of the door out of the house, or at least to the front hall, as the room behind him looked to be bathed in sunlight.

Before I could try to run for it or formulate a plan, the sigil on the floor glowed a sickly, nearly volcanic red, and a foggy image formed above it, much like a disk of black mist, and I blanched as I saw a masculine figure step out of it. He did so casually, like it was a routine, and my throat tightened as I recognized the baseball bat he had somehow recovered, bloodied nails stuck in it at various weird angles. At 2p!Canada's nod, he turned, and I swallowed as 2p!America raised an eyebrow at me, grinning maliciously. I saw that, like in most of the fan art, he was missing one of his front teeth.

"Well well, so this is the bitch that's been causing so much trouble?" 2p!America asked as he walked forward, and I resisted the urge to back up, no matter how much I dearly wanted to.

 _Alright Arya, you've gone and landed yourself in the lion's den. These are predators. Act like prey-_

2p!America raised his bat, his grin widening.

_-and you'll get yourself killed._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> German Translations:
> 
> Arya: Good morning Miss Schmidt.  
> Schmidt: Good morning!
> 
> Arya: Um…I…I…  
> Arya: I want to get up today?
> 
> Schmidt: Today? Do you hurt?
> 
> Arya: A little. 
> 
> Schmidt: Yes, you can get up today.
> 
> Cross-Posted: February 5th, 2020, 12.57 USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: December 9th, 2014, 6.12 PM, USA Central Time


	20. In Which Arya is Not in Kansas Anymore

_Arya's POV:_

_Don't act like prey, don't act like prey, don't act like prey._ I repeated steadily as I watched the nails come closer to my face, my clenched fists trembling. 2p!America's dull crimson eyes bored into my own, amused and deadly, and I held back a gulp, my stomach roiling. The 2p!s were sickening enough in the real world, but here, in their own world, they were nauseating.

The dark-haired nation lightly tapped the end of his bat on my cheek, smirking, not tapping hard enough to even scratch my skin, as if to show off his control. I tried not to shudder at the feeling the smears of semi-dried blood left on my face.

"So, what are we gonna do with you, huh?" America asked me wickedly, bloodlust gleaming in his vibrant red eyes.

I mustered up my courage, but before I could answer, 2p!Canada interrupted us.

"We're supposed to deliver her _unharmed_ , Allen. Or at least conscious and able to speak." he pointed out disinterestedly, shouldering his hockey stick as he approached the two of us. My eyes moved between one and the other, wondering which of them would be posing the greatest threat to my safety. 2p!American, or Allen, as it was easier to call him, seemed more than willing to beat my brains out right here and now, but I knew 2p!Canada's seeming apathetic attitude towards the situation probably could change in an instant, especially if I provoked him. So, taking a gamble…

"Deliver me to who? And for what?"

I made sure to sound nervous (it wasn't hard: I WAS nervous), but not scared. I also tried to sound a bit suspicious, as if I didn't already have a damn good idea of who told them to take me.

2p!Canada remained deadpan. "You'll just have to see when we get there, won't you." he said flatly, and Allan muttered something under his breath. I caught the words _"cupcake bastard"_ , and my heart froze.

_If they take me to 2p England, I'm dead. I'm worse than dead._

I don't know how I knew it with such utterly certainty, but I knew in my gut that if they got me to their mastermind, something very, very, unspeakably bad was going to happen to me.

_2p!America is supposed to have a violent temper, and he and 2p!Canada are also supposed to fight a lot. Maybe if I push them into fighting, I can go and…_

I studied them frankly, a small frown crossing my face. "So is he like your boss or something? Or she?" I asked doubtfully, and Allan twitched.

I yelped and skipped backwards, my muscles twinging in pain, as he suddenly swung the bat for my head, missing me by a scant hair. 2p!Canada stepped forward, lowering his hockey stick menacingly.

"Alive Allen, we need her _alive!"_ he snapped at his brother in warning, and Allen glared at him viciously.

"Fuck you, asshole! Yon't tell me what to do!" he snarled back, hefting his bat from where it had gouged into the floor. "I don't work for that cupcake bastard, and neither do you! Why the hell are we doing his dirty work anyway?!"

2p!Canada stepped towards me slightly, making sure that if Allen went for me again he'd be able to stop the blow before it did me any serious damage. "I've told you, hoser, he's taking care of all the sigils _this girl_ and her fucking friends broke! Do you want his plan to succeed or not?!"

My ears pricked up at the first part of that. Instead of mirrors, on this side we were breaking sigils? _Maybe I can use that to get back…_

Allen glared at me from over 2p!Canada's shoulder, shoving forward into his block. "All the more reason to fucking kill her now!" he snarled, crimson eyes incandescent with rage as he stared at me. I shuddered…if looks could kill, I'd be twitching on the floor at their feet.

2p!Canada pushed his brother back again. "We need her alive _for now_ Allen, so he can make her tell us what their plans are and how she knew about us! After that, he'll probably kill her himself!" he barked.

Allen shoved him in pure retaliation, absolute _murder_ in his blood-red eyes. "Which is exactly why we should beat him to the point and do it _now!"_ he shouted back, and 2p!Canada punched him. I was pretty sure Allen was going to punch back, so before either of them noticed I crept away into what I had assumed was the kitchen and politely left them to their brotherly squabbling.

I was in luck on this unlucky day: it _was_ their kitchen. Even better, there were knives, kitchen knives to be sure, but still a hell of a lot better than nothing. I took a mid-sized steak knife and stuck it in my belt before creeping out the other door in the kitchen, one that lead outside. To my surprise, this was seemingly the only lived-in house on the block. All the others were even more moldering and dead, like they were barely clinging to existence as it was. The sun was a sickly, almost watery shade of yellow, too, like it was in our world when it had to shine through a thick layer of rainclouds, and the sky was the same washed-out shade of blue. The only plant in sight was the grass growing in the front yards of all the houses, and it was knotted, dank, and lifeless.

A chill slowly ran down my spine. More than anything else, this whole place…it was like it was dying by inches, merely by dint of existing. Like everything here had to struggle to be…to be alive at _all_.

But I couldn't stand around admiring the scenery, or the lack thereof: the 2p!s would be after me soon, and I doubted their mercies would be gentle. I set off down the street, going left on a whim.

The faint sounds of the fight indoors became nonexistent as soon as I crossed out of their yard, and I glanced around nervously. The whole street seemed to be dead silent, with absolutely nothing alive around here at all, not even birds or small animals.

As I walked, I began to understand that I was in what passed for a neighborhood in their world: many houses gathered together, but absolutely no occupants in any. I adjusted my walk to be quieter, realizing that anyone coming to the aid of the 2p!s would most certainly hear _me_ coming in this still, almost dead silence, and there were a lot of places to ambush someone.

Suddenly my phone buzzed: I jumped and nearly shrieked. Faint as the buzzing was, any sound at all was startling after this long, unending silence. I fished in my pocket and pulled it out, swiping to see several texts.

  
The Awesome Prussia  


> West says you're gone from the hotel, and the staff say a man with 2p!America's description was taking to them earlier! What the hell happened?!

  
Romano  


> I found a button from your clothing, you'd better not be dead, krautlet!

  
Italy  


> Arya, if you come home I promise I'll make pasta! Please come back, we're really worried!

  
Germany  


> If you don't have cellphone coverage, you can at least text! Where are you Aryana, we can help if you give a thorough description!

I looked around and ducked into a convenient alley. Taking out my phone again, I began typing a message I could send to Germany, as he probably would get the most sense out of it.

  
Rye-Rye  


> The wall at the back of the lobby is mirrorlike enough that the 2p!s can use it to cross over: 2p!Canada and America double-teamed me and dragged me in. I'm in the 2p world now; it's mostly dead and not a lot of people –or maybe even any people– seem to exist besides the Second Players. I think they cross mirrors via some kind of sigil; if I find another house that the 2p!s have lived in, I'll take a picture and send it to you. Maybe one of the countries with magic can figure it out. I exited the house 2p!America and Canada were in and turned left; I'm planning on continuing this way until I find some kind of landmark. I'll wait there and try and figure out what to do; I'm not going to stay anywhere near the 2p!s if I can help it. Maybe I can try to copy the sigil and just step on it? I think the others break or get defaced or something when we break the mirrors from our side; they said something about 2p!Britain going around to fix them.

I hit send and waited patiently. Sure enough, there was another buzz about a minute later, and a text popped up on my phone.

  
Germany  


> How did they pull you through?

  
Rye-Rye  


> Literally. 2p!Canada grabbed me by the elbow and yanked me in; face it Deutschland, ever since the car crash I haven't been able to keep up with my training, so he was a hell of a lot stronger than me.

  
Germany  


> Fair enough. Are you panicking?

  
Rye-Rye  


> No, I'm fine. At this point, I think I'm all panicked-out. What should I do?

  
Germany  


> Staying put is probably not an option. These "second players" are in their own world now, it may be that they are stronger, and it is almost certain that they know the terrain better than you. Keep moving, and try not to leave traces of yourself around. You said there wasn't anyone else?

  
Rye-Rye  


> Nothing and nobody. The only living thing besides me, 2p!America, and 2p!Canada I've seen in about five minutes of walking through a suburb is the freaking grass in the yards. And even that's dubious –they could really go for some rain and manure around here.

  
Germany  


> That's both good and bad. You could've blended in with some of the locals, with enough effort, but if there are no locals, then that also means there is no one to betray you and hand you over to them. You said that there were some pleasant second players?

  
Rye-Rye  


> Pleasant may or may not be stretching it. The stories in the book were extremely vague and differed from each other a lot in the details. It will suffice to say that yes, some of the 2p!s are less aggressive then the others, but less murderous…maybe not.

  
Germany  


> Try seeking them out in the meantime. We'll be working on how to get you out: based on your information on the sigils, we probably shouldn't be hunting the other 2p!s. If we find them, we'll interrogate them for you. Good luck.

  
Rye-Rye  


> Good luck. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-Posted: February 5th, 2020, 1.20 PM USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: December 10th, 2014, 4.54 PM, USA Central Time


	21. In Which There is Much Running

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The bit about the texts going through different dimensions was not really thought through when I wrote it down, but I can excuse myself with the fact that the phones already had a connection with each other, thus the texts were able to go through. We don't frequently get texts from different realities because the phones from that reality have never texted ours, thus, they can't bridge the distance because they have no ending point.

_Arya's POV:_

I skidded through a puddle of something best left unidentified, darting around a corner and flattening myself against the dreary brick wall. I slowed and then stopped my frantic panting, trying to slow my heartbeat as well, my eyes shut tightly.

 _I'm not here, I'm not here, I'm not here…_ I thought frantically, listening with all my might. I knew better than to peek around the corner and check for my pursuers: they'd probably throw something at me, and that something had about a ninety-five percent chance of being sharp, pointy, and fatal. I didn't even know who it _was_ at this point –I did know that at the beginning of the chase 2p!America, Canada, and Italy had definitively been involved. Chills ran up and down my spine as I heard oaths in multiple different languages approaching, and dove inside a dumpster at the same time three pairs of feet flashed by.

Luckily, it was empty, and the hollow _bang_ of me falling was serendipitously covered by their curses, which at this point were loud and foul enough to strip paint.

I trembled at the bottom of the dumpster as the footsteps pounded by: if they caught me, it was going to hurt. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure _that_ out: the 2p!s were promising some pretty nasty things as they ran past, should they get their hands on me anytime soon.

I wasn't going to give them the chance.

I _debated_ staying in here until pursuit died down, but that was unrealistic. If they found me, I'd be trapped like a rat, and even though venturing out was equally dangerous, it at least had the benefit of running space.

I was still bring chased in the strange, empty set of suburbs that I had been summoned, or more appropriately, dragged into, but I was nearing the edge of the "city", for I could see a distinct lack of roofs towards the direction the 2p!s had run. So, gathering my courage with both hands, I heaved myself out of the dumpster and peeked around the corner.

I couldn't see anyone on the street, and therefore, coast clear, I climbed up onto the dumpster, giving a little jump and catching the edges of the roof. Cautiously, I hauled myself partially over, then looked around again. No one on the rooftops either, thank god.

I dropped back down to the ground and set off in cautious pursuit of the empty space.

_***Time Skip***_

After Germany had texted me, I had decided to find something to eat, and by "find" I meant "steal". It wasn't like I could go to a supermarket or whatever; the 2p!s seemed to acquire food by the same means they crossed over, via sigils. I certainly hadn't seen any way they could get them _here:_ this whole place seemed to be dying by inches.

_Then again…that does make a kind of sense. After all, this isn't a "cannon" universe: maybe worlds are defined by their creators, and whichever one came up with the idea for a world first defines what kind of world it's going to be? This world and, more importantly, the people in it, were made up by different people who had different ideas about different characters and different ideas of what "their" world may look like. Because the reasoning defining this place is so convoluted, everything in it is either twisted or struggling for it's very existence._

This made as much sense as anything I was ever likely to come up with, and trying to ponder on it made my head hurt. For instance, why were the people from our world the ones to make up this universe? Did that mean our world was made up by someone else? Or that all these anime worlds actually existed, or just the most popular ones? Were the less popular ones like this, badly defined and warped? Did the fanbase have any pull in creating a universe, or was it just the original author? If the fanbase differed enough from what the original author created, did a different dimension form?

Sometimes an A+ in philosophy class is a bad thing.

But various intra-dimensional musings aside, I was hungry, I was in mild pain, and I had been under a lot of stress in the past few hours. Food was paramount, and a rest sounded even better. My blonde hair had been tied back in a ponytail for lounging about the library, but that hadn't saved it from the inordinate amount of dust and grime that populated this world. A bath would be nice, too.

A lot better than nice, if I was to be honest.

There was a distinct undertone of blood in the air, at first sickening, but, as one got used to it…mildly annoying, and it made me feel grimy all over. I was absurdly grateful for the sneakers I wore, because there were occasional puddles and streaks of liquid best left unidentified, in nearly every negative color you could care to think of, just incredibly bland or dull ones. Most of it was red or brown: I did _not_ want to have my socks soaked with that substance. It looked nasty and _beyond_ biohazardous.

Anyway, I eventually crept down the breadth of the street, and crossing my fingers, I cautiously peeked around the corner. No sharp objects flew out at my head, which I took as a good sign.

I was about to step into the open, before the sound of running feet sent me darting back into the shade of the building, and I watched with wide and frightened eyes as 2p!China, Italy, and Japan ran around the corner.

2p!China suddenly skidded to a stop and let out a hiss of exasperation. "Look idiots, we can't catch her like this!" he snapped, and the other two skidded to a halt a few paces away.

2p!Italy glared at the Asian nation dangerously as 2p!Japan remained silent and stoic. "What makes you say that, you stoned _idiota?!"_ the former barked, and 2p!China shouldered the butcher's knife he had in his right hand.

"Think about it. How much noise does this place have normally?"

2p!Italy glared at him. "None! What's your point!?" he snapped, and 2p!China shrugged soundlessly, making 2p!Italy clench his fists.

"Well, we're making quite a series of loud sounds, aren't we?" he pointed out quietly, and 2p!Italy opened his mouth, his face contorted with rage, then realization came into his eyes and he swore under his breath.

"Shit. We've been making enough noise that the little _cagna_ would've have heard us coming and bolted every time we came close." he muttered, and 2p!Japan nodded.

"I agree. At first it I thought it best to do that, since she might've made a mistake because she was afraid of us and ran too soon or too predictably, but it seems she's more canny than I thought."

2p!China tossed his blade up in the air and caught it by the hilt. "Despite the fact we thought the…originals…she had to help her were the main threat, she's more than dangerous enough on her own. It makes sense that Oliver wants her: she could prove a _major_ stumbling block to the plan." he mused, and 2p!Italy snorted murderously as he began playing with his switchblade knife.

"Funny, I thought she _already was_. They undid nearly _all_ our work possessing the others, and when I say all, I _mean_ all. Every last one of us except America, Canada, and England have been exorcized from the originals, and it's only a matter of time before the _others_ figure out what happened here!" he snapped.

2p!Japan spoke up again, ominously. "Unless of course, they _don't_ figure it out, and are told."

2p!China and Italy looked at each other uneasily as he continued.

"There's no guarantee that just because her two friends have been secretive so far they won't talk now, _especially_ now that their comrade is trapped here. They have every reason to pool their resources with the other countries to try and get her back, especially since our only three remaining are here, trying to catch her."

I perked up a bit at that. Maybe all was not lost, at least as far as my survival went.

All three 2p!s unsheathed their various weapons as my heart sank again, all the way down to my grimy sneakers.

"All the more reason to kill her now, before they can get to her." 2p!Japan said coldly, and I swallowed hard as they split up and began walking, _quietly_ , along the streets. Before long, the trio of murderous doubles were swallowed up by the tangle of buildings, and I was thus confronted with three evil nations prowling out for my blood.

And I could no longer hear them coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-Posted: February 5th, 2020, 1.34 PM USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: December 14th, 2014, 11.26, USA Central Time


	22. In Which We Go "Unto the Breach"

_3rd Person POV_

"-und Frau Thompson ist now trapped in said dimension. Any questions?"

Germany, presiding over this emergency World Meeting, surveyed the broad oak table. Both halves of Italy were uncharacteristically focused, sitting side by side and not even attempting to eat pasta or strangle each other.

Germany's ice-blue eyes moved slowly around the whole conference room. In point of fact, _everyone_ was eerily normal. France was sitting calmly in his chair, his hands clasped in front of him on the table, England's seat beside him gapingly empty. Russia wasn't smiling at all, and Japan and China, on his sides, weren't edging away. Every eye was focused on the Germanic nation, and finally, Greece broached a question, his normally sleepy eyes almost focused.

"So, what you're saying is, this Arya person is trapped in this alternate world? What can we do about _that?_ England was the only magicker we had…"

"Actually you're wrong on that one: both me and Norway know a thing or two about magic." Romania cut in from the other side of the table, looking at the Nordic nation for confirmation.

Norway nodded quietly.

 _"Ja_ , I know magic." he said to the room at large, and Greece blinked.

"Well, do you know how to do the…the magic to get her back?" he yawned, his attentive posture slowly drooping as the land of nod called his name. The cat on his chest mewed and followed his lead. "Z"s began to drift from the pair as Turkey rolled his eyes from beside them.

Russia raised his hand. "One question," he said, regaining his childlike smirk. "How come we cannot just get the beating on the 2p!s when they come back? I'm _sure_ they'll tell us how to get her back if the Magic Metal Pipe of Pain asks them." He raised the plumbing object in question as China and Japan finally scooted their seats the perquisite few inches away.

"Because we don't even know if she'll be alive by the time we ask, _stupido."_ Romano snapped, although he yelped and hid behind his brother as Russia turned to smile at them both.

Germany sighed. "Romano's right, Russia. We can't even be sure if she's alive now, aside from texting her, und if we do zat, we might blow her cover if she's in hiding. We'll have to wait until she either contacts us herself or we find a way to drag her back on our own." he explained wearily, and Prussia cut in excitedly, pointing his pen at the entourage.

"I have un awesome idea! What if instead of dragging her out, we go in after her?"

Germany glared at his brother. "This is serious, Prussia! If we can't even get one human out of zere, how do you expect _us_ to get out once we got in?!"

Prussia pointed at Romania, not discouraged from his latest mad plan one jot. "We take one of ze magickers with us und leave one here to pull us out!"

Romania blinked twice. "That's…actually a really good idea." he said in cautious surprise, and Norway nodded.

"My magic is the stronger of us two, so you should probably be the one to go with them." he said neutrally, looking at his companion, and Romania nodded a few times.

Germany tugged Prussia aside, glancing at the other countries worriedly. _"Preußen_ , you've been fighting ze 2p!s longer than the rest of us. Do you _honestly_ think that some of the weaker nations would stand a chance against their doubles if we brought them over to _their_ home ground?" he hissed, and Prussia patted his back cockily.

"Don't worry West, I'm planning on only bringing you, me, zat scary bastard Russia, und some of ze Asian countries, not _everyone!"_

Germany frowned uneasily. "We'll be outnumbered."

Prussia shrugged with a slight smirk. _"Ja_ , but zis way we know nobody's going to stab us in ze back! Kesese~!"

_Arya's POV:_

I nearly screamed in shock when my phone rang again, and hurriedly snatched it out of my pocket.

Flipping it open, I blinked at the text from Germany. The thoughts of them coming in after me had never occurred to me, but, in retrospect, it seemed not only entirely logical, but the best option they could've come up with. I quickly typed back a response.

  
Rye-Rye  


> If you guys are going to come through, I should probably find somewhere conspicuous. Where are we meeting up?

There was about a half-second's pause, and then the reply came in glowing black and white letters.

  
Germany  


> Romania and Norway say that the transferral from world to world will happen in a large pillar of light. You'll be able to see that, so head for it and we'll hopefully not miss you.

I blinked.

  
Rye-Rye  


> Wait, won't the 2ps see that too?!

There was a long pause, and then a soft ding.

  
Germany  


> Yes, but we're bringing Russia, myself, Japan, China, Romania, und my idiot brother Prussia. Myself, Japan, Russia, und China for muscle, Prussia for experience, und Romania for magic. Hopefully we'll be able to hold them off until you get here. Do you know which 2p!s are around?

I swallowed and looked up, casting my eyes around the dingy alleyway as if the 2ps would jump out at me.

  
Rye-Rye  


> 2p!China, Japan, Italy, America, and Canada are definitely on my trail, but so far I've only seen 2p!China, Japan, and Italy. They split up a while back to cover more ground.

I typed in, then received his acknowledgement and turned my phone off.

I began climbing up the side of the alley I was currently sulking in, the better to spot this ostensible pillar of light when it showed up, my whole body aching and twinging in protest the whole way.

 _A bath._ I thought longingly as I climbed. A nice long, hot bath where I can relax and soak all the kinks out of my poor, sore body.

My sarcastic inner voice chipped in, making me chuckle weakly. _A bath, a bath, my kingdom for a bath._

_3rd Person POV:_

"Alright, is everyone ready?"

Germany looked to his companions as Norway and Romania both raised identical thick tomes, one standing in the magical circle with Germany and the others, the other sitting at a table a good distance away. Japan loosened his sword in its sheath, preparing to come out of the portal fighting if need be. China had his wok slung across his back for the same purpose. Germany himself had his gun and sheer muscle mass to protect him (and others if need be) from danger. Russia had his metal pipe and sheer pants-wetting aura of danger, fear, and intimidation. Prussia was fast and strong enough that he hopefully wouldn't need a weapon, and Romania had his magic.

This would work.

He turned back to face Norway. "Alright, we're ready. Remember, one of us will call your phone to signal our retreat, und when we do, bring us back as fast as you can. We're going to this world to get Frau Thompson back, nothing more und nothing less. We are not going to attack these "2p!s" without provocation, und we will not stay a second longer than is absolutely needed by the mission. Ready, begin."

Both magical nations nodded and opened their books, closed their eyes, and began to chant.

_"Ore no osoroshi sa wo omoishiraseru tame ni zenryoku de norotte yaru, haruka naru chi yori shoukan suru, saa, ideyo!"_

The floor under the assembled nations glowed a bright wheat-yellow as the duo finished their chant, the light radiating outward from the sigil carved upon the wooden boards, and it shot up into a pillar as every nation felt a moment of vertigo, then a sensation strangely similar to that of being tumbled along a stream of rushing water, hearing and sight numbed by the dull rushing sound and brightening yellow light, and then, there was a small shock as solid ground rushed up to meet their feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-Posted: February 5th, 2020, 1.49 PM USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: December 17th, 2014, 9.34 AM, USA Central Time


	23. In Which There is a Free-For-All

_Arya's POV:_

The sky about fifty meters directly ahead of me was suddenly shot through with a blinding pillar of light, and I yelped and threw up my hands at the sudden glare. Squinting, I realized that the source of the light was on the ground, in one of the streets, and once I did, I started calculating my route. The streets themselves would be too dangerous, so that left about three or four blocks of rooftops to run over. I took a moment to silently pray for success, then ran towards the edge of the roof, taking a running leap, and slammed into the next house over.

I ignored the breath that was driven out of me in a wheeze, hauling myself over the brink and getting to my feet again. I inhaled once and then ran again, jumping for the far roof once more.

In this manner I progressed a few blocks before I heard the distinct _thud_ of pursuit. I glanced over my shoulder as I leapfrogged from one building to the other, and gulped as I saw a flash of purple behind me. 2p!France was not one of the 2p!s I was familiar with.

I glanced ahead again as I leapt to the next roof: I was about two blocks away from where the flash had come from.

_Am I going to make it?_

I tried not to look behind me and check, knowing it would slow me down, but the urge was nearly irresistible. The muscles in my back tightened, remembering what it had felt like to be chased by 2p!Italy and subconsciously trying to brace myself in case 2p!France had a similar set of throwing knives.

I heard a _thump_ nearly directly behind my back as I jumped to another roof, and risked flicking a glance over my shoulder to see 2p!France nearly a step behind me. I yelped and ran even faster, but just as my feet touched the next roof I felt him hit my back and we were both sent skidding across the rooftop.

It wasn't neat, it wasn't clean, and it certainly wasn't easy. I was desperate to get away and he was equally determined to stop me: there was a large amount of clawing, struggling, and punching as we wrestled together on the slightly tilted roof, along with a plethora of breathless but vehement curses in at least two languages. I could feel us sliding towards the edge and twisted: he grunted and correspondingly tightened his chokehold on my neck. I slammed my head backward and felt a crunch as the 2p howled something in French and let go, cursing all the way.

I managed to stand up, turn around, and glimpse the blood pouring down his face before 2p!France tackled me again and we were once more rolling around the rooftop, calling each other various foul names and getting in an occasional hit before we were blocked by the other's arm, leg, or hand. More than once I found myself in positions with him that I would've normally castrated a guy for putting me in, but right now, survival was all. Capture meant death.

Finally I managed to get an elbow into his stomach, making him wheeze as all the air left his body, and I wrenched myself to my feet and aimed a good hard stomp on his abdomen. Incredibly, he didn't block me, probably still out of air, and even more incredibly, I drove the breath out of him for a second time. Steeling myself against the gruesome sensation, I spun to get more momentum and heel-kicked him right in the face. Something important made a very wet, disgusting crunching noise, and with that, 2p!France was down for the count for…well, however long it took nations to heal from that.

I didn't need to take a hint: I backed up and _ran_ for the edge of the next rooftop.

_3rd Person POV:_

Germany reeled as soon as the light dissipated, feeling sick to his stomach, only catching a glimpse of many rotten, sagging buildings on brick-paved streets before he was staring at said street and trying not to vomit. He had only faced 2p!Italy before, and from a distance, but _this_ , this was indescribable. The pure, unfettered source of the Second Player's evil was all around him, and as he glanced at Prussia, he saw that even his _bruder's_ face was pale and sick. Looking behind him, he saw Romania was being propped up by China and Japan, and Russia's face was devoid of its usual innocent expression.

"I do not like this place, _da?"_ he said ponderously, tapping his pipe against one palm as he frowned at the environment.

"I second that, aru." China agreed, shivering and looking around.

"But it's such a nice place, once you get used to it." a deep voice said with malicious glee. Germany and the others recoiled as the first 2p sauntered out of an alley, playing with his butcher knife. Cruel red eyes gleamed at them all as 2p!China leered at his counterpart.

"We can get to know each other…aru." His smile widened at the last word.

China immediately took out his wok. "How dare you mock me, aru!"

Romania quickly righted himself from the sudden lack of balance, and Japan gripped his shoulder before also moving away and drawing his sword. "We are rooking for the girl. If you have not seen her, move out of our way. If you know where she is, take us there." he said calmly, holding it out in front of him.

2p!China tossed his butcher knife in the air and caught it again by the hilt, utterly uncaring. "And why should I do that?"

Russia stepped forward with a small smile on his face. "Because if you don't, we'll hurt you, _da?"_

A wide grin appeared on the other China's face. "Oh you will, will you?" he chuckled, and Prussia glanced to his side as another set of footsteps approached.

"So it's these hosers? Fuck, I thought the girl was getting up to something troublesome again."

Prussia was not as much of a jerk as he pretended to be sometimes: he could recognize the Canadian nation, and he could _definitely_ recognize the description Arya had given him about said nation's double as he slouched around a corner. The hockey stick made it a bit of a no-brainer.

 _"Ja_ , well, we're about to cause more trouble than she ever could!" he shot back, and ducked as a knife flew threw the air.

 _"Ciao_ , asshole. We still have some unfinished business, no?" Luciano said predatorily as he approached from the opposite direction as 2p!Canada. Prussia turned to face him as China faced off with his 2p and Japan and Russia began cautiously approaching Canada's.

"Hey, fucktards!"

Germany blinked and turned, swearing under his breath as he saw the 2p that eerily resembled America prowl out of yet another alley. He backed up a little as he spoke to the others.

"China, you take care of your double. Prussia can handle Italy's, and Japan, you take Canada's. Russia-"

The arctic nation turned, raising his pipe with a childlike smile. _"Da?"_

Germany nodded his head towards 2p!America. "You handle him."

Russia's smile grew wider, if that was possible, and he began striding towards the 2p happily. _"Da~!"_

Prussia picked up the knife Luciano had thrown. "Kesese, now we're on even ground, loser!" he cackled as 2p!Italy's eyes darkened and he pulled out another knife. Both Chinas glared at each other and brandished their weapons. Japan crouched as 2p!Canada spat out his cigarette and approached, wielding his bloodied hockey stick.

Germany clenched his fists and sucked in a long breath. "Alright, Romania, you follow me. We'll go look for Arya."

The magical nation nodded and tucked his book inside his coat. "Right, sure thing."

2p!America lunged for Russia. "You fucks aren't going _anywhere!"_ he snarled, a sadistic, ferally gleeful smile on his face.

Russia blocked his overhead blow with the bat and attempted to smash his pipe into the fake's side. "I do not think it is your decision, my friend." he said with a light smile.

2p!America dodged and struck at him once more, losing the contempt-filled edge to his sneer.

"Fuck you!"

2p!Canada swung his hockey stick for Japan's head, but the Asian nation was prepared for him and ducked, his sword flashing as the 2p blocked the blows with his stick, chips of wood flying from the clashing weapons, the taller blond's teeth bared in a snarl of rage and effort mingled.

"Get _out of my goddamned way_ , you hoser!"

Japan swung with his sword once more and used his scabbard to deliver a punishing backblow to the double's head. "I'm afraid I cannot. You have one of our allies here, and we are not leaving until we get her back."

Luciano practically dove on Prussia, both countries going at each other tooth and nail with the knives they held. Sparks flew as Prussia blocked the 2p's knife swipe and kicked him in the stomach.

"Zat was for totaling my totally awesome car, you loser!"

Both Chinas were going at each other so hard and fast neither had breath for words. The steel of the original China's wok was covered in shiny new scratches, and 2p!China's butcher knife had several notches in the blade.

Germany and Romania, while all the 2p!s were thus distracted, took the opportunity to run down a side alley and come out into another, broader street. "Alright, now Arya should've seen zat flash, so all we have to do is-"

A blonde figure suddenly jumped across the intervening space between the narrow streets.

"-wait." Germany finished dumbly.

Romania jumped up and down, waving his hands. "ARYA! DOWN HERE! DOWN HERE!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-Posted: February 5th, 2020, 1.57 PM USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: December 19th, 2014, 9.43 PM, USA Central Time


	24. In Which We Meet Up

_Arya's POV:_

I skidded to a halt, my ankles aching from the multiple strains jumping had put on them. _That isn't a voice I know, but…it sounds familiar?_

I crept to the edge of the roof, then beamed in delight. "Germany! And…um…"

The man with brown hair and red eyes waved at me happily. "I'm Romania!" he chirped, and I caught sight of a fang in his mouth.

 _Uh…is he actually a vampire, or is it just because he's Romania?_ I thought vacantly, then shook my head and jumped down. "So, what's the pl- _mph!"_

I struggled in panic as I was encased in the mother of all bear hugs, beating on Germany's shoulder as my collection of air was rapidly deprived. "MM! MMP!"

He let me go sheepishly. "Sorry Arya, I forget you aren't a country sometimes." Germany said apologetically, looking down at me. I had dropped to my hands and knees on the street, regardless of filth, wheezing. Romania patted my shoulder comfortingly as I struggled to bring air into lungs I was sure were crushed flat.

"It's okay, he does it to everyone he hugs. Super-country strength and all that."

I coughed and wheezed one last time. "Sure thing man." I croaked, then shakily got up.

Germany still looked sheepish. "Sorry again, I really am."

I waved my hands. " 'S all good here man. Don't mention it."

He looked slightly more mollified. "Right. Anyway, Romania, if we use the spell to get back, will it take the 2p!s who are fighting Japan and the others with us?"

Romania began thumbing through his magic book. "Not if use the right spell."

I cracked my knuckles. "So who are we fighting?"

Romania and Germany gave me a pointed look. _"We_ are fighting 2p!Canada, America, Italy, Japan, and China. _You_ are still supposed to be on medical leave." Romania pointed out, and I coughed and twirled my finger, indicating the world around us.

"Some hospital."

Germany bopped me (gently) on the head. "None of zat. Come on, und just…sort of stay at ze back."

I glared at _his_ back as I fell into line between him and Romania, with the magical nation bringing up the rear. _I hate being useless._ I thought irritably as we entered an alley that apparently led to the street they had been dimension-switched onto.

We came out into a scene of violent, bloody chaos.

China's left shoulder and arm were covered in blood, but he was smashing away merrily at his 2p, who was bleeding heavily from his temple and missing his cap. His butcher knife dangled between his fingers, covered in China's blood. 2p!Canada's hockey stick was covered in dents and chips, his neck and chest covered in blood that somehow only oozed from a long slice in his throat. Japan's sword, soaked in blood, was evidence as to who had stuck the blow, but he moved cautiously, and he was holding his side like a few ribs had been broken. Russia and 2p!America were trading blows so hard and fast that I could barely see them, much less any wounds they may have had. Prussia was currently kicking the shit out of 2p!Italy, screeching German curses at the Italian barely blocked blow after blow, a large bruise blossoming on the side of his face.

Germany moved fast, moved decisively, and moved fluidly. He snatched up a fallen brick off the ground, strode towards 2p!China, and laid him out in one swift _crack_ of brick against skull. China stopped fighting with a sound of relief, awkwardly shouldering his wok. Germany marched over to 2p!America and laid him out with equal swiftness. One loud _crack_ , and the bad-tempered American was out cold on the ground, dark sunglasses askew on his forehead, nail-splintered bat rolling out of his hands. Russia nodded to him with some measure of relief, and I saw the scratches and splinters from the bat all over his face. He and Germany turned in unison and went to gang up on the others. China noticed me standing with Romania and went over, clutching his shoulder to stop the bleeding.

"Hello, you must be Arya, aru." he said with a painful grimace which was probably meant to be a smile, holding out his wounded arm as if to shake my hand. I bowed a little sheepishly, shaking his hand as gently as I could.

"Hi, yeah, that's me. Sorry about…um, all this."

He smiled and shook his head. "No trouble, aru. You saved me first, remember? It's just paying a debt, aru."

I nodded happily, and we all jumped at the sound of a large smack. Turning, we saw that Germany and Russia had struck simultaneously, and that 2p!Italy was laid out on the ground, his skull nearly caved in and scalp bleeding heavily. 2p!Canada glanced over Japan's shoulder at his defeated comrades, then swore.

"Fuck! You hosers just don't know when to quit!" he spat, lashing out at Japan and then quickly sliding out of the corner the Asian nation had managed to briefly back him into.

We all took the hint and backed up too, so that the battle lines were clearly drawn. 2p!Canada, the only one standing of his brethren, and 2p!China, America, Italy all laid out on the chipped and rugged brick of the street, unconscious and possibly unable to recover. The originals, the 1p!s, most of them wounded, whether heavily or lightly, and me, apparently out of the equation, as my whole body was still strained from the car crash and strenuous movement would tear my newly healed tissue…not that a lot of it hadn't been torn already.

Although the originals were heavily outnumbered if the other 2p!s got wind of events and came here, for now, we had the definite advantage. And as long as nor more than two or three of the other 2p!s showed up, the advantage would still be ours.

2p!Canada opened his mouth to say something foul, and everyone on our side leaned forward, preparing to fight, but we were all interrupted by a cheery voice.

"Oh my! I leave for just a few hours to take care of some seals, and look what a mess you naughty poppets have made~!"

Every hair on my body stood on end, and for a second, I could've sworn my heart stopped. A brightly clad figure practically skipped around the piles of rubble, followed by 2p!Japan, whose dull red eyes flashed smugly when they met mine.

_So that's why he wasn't fighting with the others…he was going to get 2p!England._

Speaking of, the eerily cheerful mastermind of this entire scheme capered to a halt, his bright blue eyes swirling with faint traces of pink, a faint grin lingering on his lips. I took the startled moment to study him.

Like most of the fan portrayals, 2p!England was wearing a light pink shirt with a darker pink-purple vest over it, a bright blue bowtie tied perfectly at his throat. His corduroy pants were a light cream color, his shoes patent brown leather. He was a strawberry blonde, with, of course, huge eyebrows, but I couldn't tell whether or not he had any freckles at this distance.

I was also dead certain it would take a team of horses to drag me so much as one inch closer to him. His evil fanned out around us like a poisonous cloud.

2p!England smiled widely as our eyes met.

"Hello, poppet."

I swallowed hard, my knees weakening in terror as his light British accent floated across the space between us. Every syllable, every _phoneme_ carried a miasma of corruption and wickedness, though his voice was outwardly light and charming.

"W-who are you?" I stammered, trying to work my tongue around the fear choking my throat.

He affected a look of surprise. "You don't know, poppet? Funny. I thought you knew _quite_ a bit about us." Avarice gleamed in his eyes as he took a step closer to our line. "And I was wondering to myself, how _do_ you know so much about us? I was very careful… _erasing_ our information from the world of our originals." 2p!England asked me curiously, tilting his head to the side like a sinister bird.

I gulped and backed away an equivalent pace.

"I-I read it. In a book." I whispered, and he giggled.

 _"Really?_ How fascinating. And who wrote this book?"

I shrugged, backing up another step as I bumped into Prussia, who laid a hand on my shoulder and gaze it a comforting squeeze. "Dunno. Lots of people who didn't sign their names."

2p!England put a finger to his lips, tapping it as he thought. "A book where lots of people didn't sign their names…are you lying to me, poppet?" he asked, closing his eyes in a cheerful smile completely at odds with his ominous question. I opened my mouth to answer, but Germany stepped in front of me, quietly snapping his fingers behind his back at Romania and pointing to me.

"Yes, well, we're leaving now, und we're taking her with us."

Romania stepped beside my other shoulder and opened his book, using the screen Germany's body provided. 2p!England's face suddenly lost its cheerful demeanor. "I wouldn't do that if I were you." he said darkly, still with a little teasing smirk, and we all froze.

"Do what, exactly?" Russia asked with suspicion, shifting his pipe in his hands. 2p!England pointed to me, regaining his bright, doll-like, closed-eyes smile.

"Take her away without all of us getting introduced, of course!"

I think we all sweatdropped, even 2p!Canada. 2p!England seemed oblivious to this, stepping forward and taking a swaying, elegant bow. "I'm Oliver Kirkland, and this _disrespectful_ young man beside me is Matt Williams."

2p!Japan glared at his back: somehow, "Oliver" sensed the glare and its meaning.

"And the gentleman behind me is Kuro Honda. These-" He indicated the sprawled bodies of his comrades. "- _unfortunate_ young men are Allen Jones, Luciano Vargas, and Wang Zao. There, our introductions over."

I think everyone on our side shuddered.

"Even the _names_ are similar." Prussia whispered in horror from next to me, the fingers on my shoulder tightening and shaking.

Oliver stood straight once more and smiled at me. "Now young lady, I think you should tell us _your_ name. We already know the names of our…brethren."

His cheerful smile faltered slightly as he mentioned the originals, but then strengthened.

"After all, the others will get here soon, and then we'll have to start introductions all over again~!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-Posted: February 5th, 2020, 2.05 PM USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: December 21st, 2014, 4.16 PM, USA Central Time


	25. In Which We Have Enemy Engagement

_Arya's POV:_

Well _that_ didn't sound good.

The original nations all edged closer together, and Romania began flipping through the pages in earnest as the others shielded the two of us with their bodies.

Prussia suddenly handed me his phone. "Call Norway, we're leaving _now."_ he whispered urgently, and I flicked down the contact lists to find the Nordic country, then quickly began typing as Oliver, as it was easiest to call him, tilted his head to the side, still awaiting my answer.

> We're ready to be use the spell or whatever, get us out of here Norway!

I sent the text, then looked up and edged around Russia to see my target, much as I disliked the sight of him. "Why don't you already know?" I asked. "Didn't the other Germany and Luciano tell you already?"

It was a valid question. I knew that the 2p!s knew what their originals did, at least when they took over, and both 2p!Italy _and_ Germany's originals had known my name.

Oliver looked surprised. "Why, of course poppet! But it's what one does, when one introduces themselves, they say their name."

I eyed him suspiciously, and was about to answer when Romania stomped sideways on my foot. _"Don't_ tell him. Names in the hands of a sorcerer have power, _especially_ when they know how the original person pronounces it!" he hissed in my ear, and I swallowed and looked at Oliver. There was a suspicious, hungry glitter in his eyes that I didn't like at all.

"You already know my name, so I don't see why I should tell you again. I don't like being repetitive." I said firmly, and was rewarded by the faintest of decreases in his painted-on grin, which I took to mean was Oliver's version of a scowl.

_So he **was** up to something._

He replaced the tiny lapse in facial merriment with his usual wide grin, but suddenly everyone linked hands, including Prussia and Romania. I stifled a yelp as they tugged on my sore muscles.

"Again, that's really lovely, but we are leaving, _now."_ Germany said firmly, and Romania opened his mouth to begin chanting.

_"Meramera to, moyaki tsukuse sumi kara sumi, made sono gouka de atokata mo nokoranu you ni, tamashii made mo yaki tsukuse."_

Oliver's face abruptly twisted with rage –most disturbing of all, without losing his smile.

"DON'T YOU _DARE!"_ he screeched, but the ground underneath us was already glowing, and I felt a familiar lurching sensation as the world melted away. The last thing I saw was Oliver's furious blue eyes and the rusty world spinning into an eternity of black.

_3rd Person POV:_

"Gosh darn fiddlesticks sugar muffins!" Oliver was nearly in tears of frustration. All his hard work for _nothing!_ The girl had gotten away, the sigils were still unfixed, and worse still, Matt was nearly blistering his ears with the Canadian's swearing. He wanted to bake. Baking meant sense to him. He wanted to bake a great big batch of arsenic cupcakes and feed them to everyone he saw. It took all of his enormous self control not to tear at his strawberry blond hair as he settled for agitated pacing.

"Allen!" he shrilled, turning to the sprawled figure of the red-eyed American. He approached the body and gently kicked at it, outraged tears in his eyes. "Wake up now! Wake up! That _naughty_ poppet got away! WAKE UP!"

Allen's head lolled lifelessly, and then his crimson eyes squeezed shut as he grunted. "Fuck you, Oliver." the boy growled, weakly rolling away from the British man's foot. He scooped up his dark glasses and awkwardly sat up, rubbing the bump on the back of his head. Brain injuries tended to make one uncoordinated for a brief time even after healing. "Bloody fucks got the jump on us."

Oliver was practically hopping up and down in rage. "I gosh darn well know they did, because they got away! All of them! Every single last one!" he wailed, turning and lashing out at a pile of rubble. _"Month_ after _month_ of work _ruined_ by _one **vexing**_ little poppet!" he hissed, in tears as he continued to kick at the rubble.

He needed her Given Name. He _needed_ it, it was imperative to his entire plan to neutralize her threat before she went too far. He needed her dead and out of the way in the same fashion he needed to eat, needed to sleep. And how, how, HOW had she known about him, about them?! He had been so excruciatingly careful! It had taken _years_ to eliminate all rumors, mythos, and records of them in the world of their originals, and this one little girl knew seemingly everything! Had someone told her!? No, no one could've possibly _told_ her! She hadn't seen or met any of them before she and that former nation, Prussia, had shown up at Kuro's house!

He realized his toe was beginning to hurt and stopped kicking the rubble, biting his lip. Allen and Matt saw this and edged away nervously, but he barely registered them. Oliver only bit his lip when he was trying to come up with his very worst, most depraved, most heinous ideas. It was a nervous tic he hadn't yet bothered to eliminate, and it never failed to terrify his coworkers –largely because when they had been on the receiving end of such plots, it tended to scar them for life.

In some ways less metaphorical than others.

_She couldn't possibly have been told by one of us, because none of us have ever met her before. And no one from that world can remember us, either. I made sure of that…could it be true? Could she have really read it in some book, some tome I missed? I was so sure I had gotten all of them…_

He let go of his lip and sighed. There was no way to know, except to ask her outright. With a knife. And some poison cupcakes. He already had some lovely ones in mind, a nice brown and gold swirl on top of white frosting, with arsenic. Lots and lots of arsenic, and maybe some cyanide…

Oliver's eyes glazed briefly as he smiled. He didn't think that, being as she knew so much about the others, she would be fooled by his delicious poisoned delicacies, but one never knew. He could bake some later and hope for the best, but for now, it was time to regroup and let his temper loose. Hopefully one before the other.

When Oliver lost his temper, things got…messy.

_Arya's POV:_

The world realigned itself with a watery roar, and the glow cut out as I blinked at a deadpan, blonde young man with dull indigo eyes.

"Hallo. I am Norway. I suppose you are the human they went to get." he said flatly as he closed his book, blinking slowly at me.

I blinked back. "Uh, yeah, that's me."

He nodded. "Okay."

While this _fascinating_ conversation was going on, I sensed the nations at my back moving amongst themselves, until finally someone's hand clamped down on my shoulder with an iron grip.

Russia leaned over his hand, smiling at me in an intimidating fashion. _"Privet_ , I am Russia. You are very small to be causing such a fuss, _da?"_ he asked me, and I looked at the two of us, comparing. I came up to his shoulder…

"I'm not that small. Nice to meet you, though." I said, turning slightly so we weren't conversing over my shoulder.

Russia smiled, his hand ruffling my hair in a friendly fashion. Only he was so strong it felt like he was trying to crush my skull.

"You are not like America says his citizens are. I like you." he said cheerfully, closing his eyes. I smiled uncertainly, not sure if this was a bad or a good thing.

"Ehehe…sure thing man."

Japan scooted around the towering arctic nation. _"Konichiwa_ , I am Japan. But we have met before, haven't we?" he asked, blinking his deep brown eyes slowly.

I nodded and shook his hand with a friendly smile. "This is our first proper introduction, I guess. I'm Arya. Aryana Thompson."

He smiled slightly at me. "It is a preasure to meet you."

I frowned worriedly as China stepped up, but then I realized the only sign of damage was his bloody sleeve, and he was completely healed from the butcher knife. Russia's scratches were gone as well, and Japan wasn't limping any more.

_Knock knock Arya, remember what Romano said? Countries heal nearly instantly after they're hurt._

My musings were suddenly interrupted by China's fierce hug. _"Nín hǎo_ little one, I am China, as you know! It's nice to see that you're alright!" he said into my shoulder, and I grunted and nodded, resigning myself to the sudden lack of air.

Germany pried the two of us apart. "Now zat we know who is who, perhaps we should focus on the doubles, _ja?"_ he reminded us irritably, and I sighed and nodded.

"So, about 2p!England…"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-Posted: February 5th, 2020, 2.14 USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: December 25th, 2014 USA Central Time


	26. In Which Arya Takes a Trip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I put a cliché in here somewhere, but I swear to god, it just…happened. I was writing this chapter and suddenly things took that turn of events.

_3rd Person POV:_

"One person, _one_ , young, weak, naïve, _American_ girl, beat you all, every last one." Oliver said in a strained voice, looking around the table with pink swirling in his baby blue eyes.

Francois snorted and pulled out his cigarette. "Oliver, I fought ze little _salope_ myself, and she isn't all that weak. And remember, zis was after Luciano crashed 'is car into 'ers."

Oliver leaned forward, resting his weight on the table, a strained smile twisting his features. "That isn't the point, Francois." he said sweetly. "I _thought_ I had outlined the plan clearly. I thought we had all gone through the steps. And yet here we are, with nearly all of our people found out and _evicted_ , and all but three of our originals sitting calm and happy in that little sugar-palace world they have built for themselves."

He slammed his palm down on the table with a bang, his eyes nearly glowing with rage as his twisted smile became positively unnatural. "How did _one human girl_ manage all of that?!"

There was a long silence, the last words of his shout echoing along the sagging rafters in the equally mildewed roof. No one wanted to tangle with Oliver when he was in one of these moods.

Lutz slowly tapped his fingers on the table, leaning back with a sigh. "It's like she knew us on sight, Kirkland. Who we were and what we look like." he said sullenly, daring to be the first to dive into the shark-filled waters.

Luciano paused casually embedding and yanking his favorite knife out of the table. "When she first met Feliciano…she called him Italy." he said slowly, his magenta eyes suspicious. There was a deadly silence, and Oliver's eyes began to lose the pink swirls, but take on a far more dangerous glow.

"On sight?"

Luciano nodded, drumming his fingers against the table as he chewed on his lip. "As soon as she got a good look at him. She had fallen or jumped in that river near his house: as soon as she was coherent…"

Oliver smiled slowly, like the cat who got the cream. "She knew who he was?"

The Italian nodded, and Oliver began chuckling. "So, the naughty little poppet _did_ lie to me. Does anyone, and I mean _anyone_ , remember meeting this "Arya" before? Whether as yourself or your original?"

A chorus of "no"s in various different language sounded around the scarred and moldering table. Oliver drummed his fingertips together with a muted chuckle, nibbling on his lower lip. "So, the only question remaining is _how_ she _did_ know about us, when she so _obviously_ lied about learning about us from a book."

_Arya's POV:_

I suddenly gave under the pressure of Prussia's arm, tumbling across the packed dirt of the track in my surprise. "Kesese~! If you're planning to fight ze doubles like zat, you're toast!" he cackled from the lunch table, and I scowled at him from the dirt.

"You know that feeling you have when someone says _"what's the worst that can happen?"_ in a movie and you automatically know they're doomed? Multiply that times a billion, and you get what I just got." I said crankily, and he breezily waved at me.

"Whatever, sore loser."

I grumbled under my breath as I got to my feet, but was of course knocked backwards by Italy as he tackled me in the mother of all hugs.

 _Seriously, he could get a job as an American football player! Just tell him to hug whoever has the ball, and WHAM! Instant paycheck._ I thought ruefully as I rubbed my head where it had hit a rock, automatically prying the Italian off of me.

"Seriously Italy, don't you ever get, I dunno, tired of hugging people?" I asked as I sat up, and he sat back on his heels next to me, his face innocently confused.

"Vee~, of course not."

 _I can't believe he and Romano are related._ I thought with a sweatdrop, getting to my feet with Italy's helping hand. Germany had either removed or set up some red tape barriers in his country, and had gotten permission to use the weird freaky healing mojo the countries could do on me. Apparently, for important cases, they could use the energy of their people or some shit like that to heal completely ordinary humans, but needed permission from their current boss to do so.

Germany had wrangled permission out of said boss, so now I was as fresh and undamaged as I had been when I entered the _Hetalia_ world. Better, even. I had been working out with Germany, Italy, and now Japan every day, and it was starting to show. Prussia tagged along more often than not, and moments before, we had been having an arm-wrestling contest, which I had just lost.

"Seriously, can I start learning how to fight now? Like with a katana! That'd be so badass!" I exclaimed petulantly as I sat back down, and from beside me, Japan shook his head rapidly.

 _"Ie_ , training to be a samurai takes far too rong! Most were trained from birth!" he argued, and I whimpered, turning and giving him the puppy eyes as he deadpanned. "You are far too ord to pull that off." he said flatly, and I snapped my fingers, turning back around.

"Dangit."

Japan picked up a rice ball with his chopsticks and ate it calmly, as if nothing had occurred. "Fighting rike a samurai takes concentration and willpower, it's not a hobby. First you go through various _kata_ movements, then build up speed, and that's onry for the basic first moves." he lectured, and I folded my arms, pouting.

"So I guess I'll just be a stupid damsel in distress if the 2p!s attack again." I grumbled, and Italy squinted, raising his hand.

"Vee, question Arya. Why do you keep calling the doubles "2p!s"? Is that what the book called them?"

 _Shit shit shit shit shit._ "Uh, it's actually just what I started calling them in my head, ya know? L-like being short for "Second Players", 'cause I play games a lot, ya know? Total nerd, right here!" I said quickly with false cheer, waving my fork in the air.

Japan took another bite of his rice ball. "It does tend to stick as a nickname, or whatever."

Germany nodded, obviously turning the words around in his head. "2p. Second Players. That sounds a bit less…categorizing? Ja, categorizing than "doubles". For all we know, they were here first." he said with a shrug.

I nearly opened my mouth to say _"I highly doubt that"_ , but realized my mythical book probably wouldn't have mentioned dates of creation and I shut it with a snap.

Prussia yawned obnoxiously, obviously bored. _"Ja_ , whatever. They're long gone: all we have to do is wait for ze doubles –sorry, 2p!s of America, Canada, and zat jackass Britain to show their cowardly faces here, und snap, it's all over."

I chuckled weakly. _Yeah, just three more to go, and then I can ask England to take me home. Damn…how long have I been here? Two months, nearabout? Almost three? I've stopped keeping track, other than to record it in my journal…it's sad, but I don't miss my family at all. They were nice, but…boring. Boring, distant, and distracted._ I thought, then sighed and shook the uncharitable thoughts from my head.

"Hey guys, I'm going to get up and wander, 'kay?" I asked somewhat shamefully, scooting out from the table, and Japan nodded.

"Don't go too far." he cautioned, and Italy smiled.

 _"Si!_ Can I come too-"

Germany gripped the top of his head before he could clear his seat, pushing the Italian back down. "I think you want to be alone right now, _ja?"_ he asked kindly, and I nodded, stuffing my hands in my pockets and beginning to meander across the track field.

I headed for the small copse of trees parallel to the track, my thoughts centered on my family. No siblings, almost no cousins, and only a few aunts and uncles.

 _My family has forever alone down to an art form._ I thought acidly, kicking at a stone and watching it skitter under the bushes. _Mom and dad almost never around, too busy with work and each other, and when they are, it's just pleasant small talk between all three of us. Nothing a real family would talk about._

A small sigh escaped me. _I really shouldn't be so bitter about it…I guess having more than one or two real, good friends makes all the difference. Shows just how pathetic my life has been so far._

I was about to kick the stone again, but I choked and my panic senses went haywire as a strong arm wrapped around my neck and jerked me back against someone else's body. The point of a sharp kitchen knife pressing against the hollow of my throat told me how serious my assailant was.

My hands were still free, and as subtly as I could, I inched my right one towards my pocket, where my phone was, only to be stopped by the person digging their knife vindictively into my throat. The rapidly awakening sensation of vertigo in my gut only confirmed what I was hoping against hope was not happening.

"Now _poppet,"_ Oliver began with sickening sweetness, his free hand dipping into my pocket and drawing out my phone, flicking it off with deliberate slowness and moving it out of my line of sight. "That's not nice."

I seriously debated saying _"I wasn't trying to be nice"_ with a heavy dose of sarcasm, along with several variations of _"fuck you"_ , but I really, really didn't want to be eviscerated. So I settled with an angrily whispered "Why are you here?"

He laughed giddily for a few moments, and his laughter was without a nodding acquaintance to both sanity and amusement. His knife suddenly dug viciously into my neck again, and as much as it made bile rise in my throat, I moved back towards him, feeling the heavy metal blade draw blood.

"I'm not in a good mood, Aryana." Oliver whispered in my ear, his other arm locking around my waist so I couldn't back away again, and I fought the urge to vomit at the prolonged closeness to his tainted self. "A very _naughty_ little poppet broke apart all my plans, and that _same_ naughty poppet _lied_ to me when I asked her about herself, and more importantly, _how_ she knew about us." He slowly traced the knife across my throat, humming to himself. "Why, if I wasn't mildly curious about who you really are, I might've just cut that pretty neck of yours right now. Isn't that nice of me?"

"Not particularly."

He giggled again, and suddenly twisted his grip somehow so that we were face to face, although I was about five or six inches taller than him. It was disconcerting to realize that, despite the Second Player's overwhelming presence and aura of evil Sweeny-Todd-ness, I was actually significantly bigger than he was. There was an odd mental double-take of intimidation factor.

Oliver grinned up at me, that twisted, eerie Cheshire grin that some of the fanart showed, and showed me the knife dangling between his fingers. "You'll have to tell me all about what you consider _"nice"_ then, won't you? I'm inviting you to my home. In fact, I _insist."_

He suddenly shoved the knife up against my throat, and I had to tilt my head back in a hurry or risk him slitting my neck.

"Extended stay, limited time offer. One-way ticket though, I'm afraid. You'll be with us for _quite_ a while."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-Posted: February 5th, 2020, 2.29 USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: December 31st, 2014, 9.09 AM, USA Central Time


	27. In Which The Truth Visits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If it isn't painfully obviously by this point, I am styling Oliver/2p!England as the main bad guy here. My apologies to those who are a fan of him (myself included), but he just…fit. Plus, in my opinion, there are far too few stories about him being evil, and too many where he's just macabrely cheerful and a lover of cupcakes. Is it bad that I want him to be more evil?

_Arya's POV:_

Despite being so much shorter than me, Oliver was (unsurprisingly) pretty strong, more than strong enough to drag me through the small grove of trees with one hand while keeping the knife close to my throat, in case I tried to scream. Honestly, I saw no reason not to and opened my mouth: only to be quickly disabused of that notion as he clamped his other hand over my jaw and nearly wrenched me off my feet. I stumbled for a few seconds, then hissed in surprise as he tossed me into the back of what seemed, in my quick glance around, to be some kind of delivery van. The blunt end of the knife handle meeting the back of my skull promptly snuffed out any thoughts I had in my head, and I felt the cold, rough surface of the van's floor smack against my cheek, the dim sound of a car starting up the last thing I registered before everything winked out into darkness.

_***Time Skip***_

I groaned, my head pounding. Leftover adrenaline was coursing through my nerves, and I felt on edge, although at the moment I couldn't piece together how or why. Opening my eyes was too much of an effort, and I shivered, feeling the icy smoothness of cold concrete under me. I began to move to wrap my arms around myself, but midway through the movement, I realized that my hands were tied together.

That was more than enough incentive to open my heavy eyelids, although it did little to improve my mood or my situation. Everything around me was pitch black, and no matter how I turned my head, I never encountered any kind of light source. Awkwardly shuffling, I managed to sit up. My legs were tied together too, but I had enough slack to probably walk. A run, however, was out of the question.

I twisted my shoulders a few times, trying to sense by feel what condition I was exactly in. Whatever was binding my hands and feet together was not metal, so if I had a knife, I might be able to cut it. I was in my exercise clothing when I was kidnapped, which meant sweatpants and a loose black tank top. I seemed to still be in this attire, which was certainly a relief, especially considering the fanfics about many of the Second Players' attitude towards women roughly my age.

I felt my pockets awkwardly, before remembering Oliver had taken my phone. Perhaps belatedly, it was only then that true panic set in, and my throat tightened.

_Oh god oh god oh god, I-I'm going to die here, I-_

I clenched my fists in their bonds, my chest heaving as I fought back the urge to scream and panic even further. Thoughts of all the various depraved and horrible things the 2p!s had been written off as capable of doing did not exactly help my rising terror.

_Breathe. Don't panic, just- breathe. Panicking won't help you at all, and you managed to beat these guys before, right?_

I swallowed hard, closing my eyes as I thought. It wasn't very comforting at all, since I couldn't resist adding _Of course, that was when they weren't expecting you._

I mentally slapped that part of my mind.

 _Shut up. I kicked their asses once, I can kick their asses again. Besides, it's not like Italy and Germany won't suspect something when I suddenly up and disappear. They'll be on his trail once they realize I'm missing._

Almost as soon as I completed that thought, a door in front of me swung open, making me squint and turn my head away from the sudden, comparably bright glare, a masculine figure silhouetted against the blinding square of light.

"Ah, I'm _so_ sorry poppet, I forgot to turn the lights on."

A _flick_ was heard, and suddenly the whole room was lit up with a bright fluorescent glow. Once my eyes adjusted, I turned my head to see Oliver sit down a few inches away from me, crossing his legs in front of him. A small covered dish sat next to one of his knees.

My heart froze.

 _That better not be cupcakes._

Slowly, I looked up, noticing as I did that Oliver did indeed have freckles, pale, near-invisible ones dotted about his nose and cheeks. His Cheshire grin widened as our eyes met, and I had to fight back the urge to flinch.

Oliver inclined his body slightly in my direction. "Good morning poppet. How are you feeling?" he asked with cheerful gallantry, as if he hadn't kidnapped me and was probably planning on torturing me and _definitely_ hated my guys.

"…I've been better." I replied after a slow pause, and his eyes glittered with mirth.

"Mm. _Well_ then, I suppose you're hungry."

He whipped the covering off the plate, and my chest tightened as I beheld the vanilla cupcakes, frosted white with some starburst-like swirls of brown and gold on the top. Oliver unwrapped one and held it towards me, his blue eyes maliciously innocent.

"Have a bite."

I squirmed a bit, looking away.

"I'm not hungry, and besides, I don't trust you as far as I could throw you." I growled.

 _And I would dearly love to find out how far that is._ I added silently, sullen anger curling in my gut.

Oliver chuckled, dusting some imaginary specks of dust off the perfectly frosted delicacy and placing it back on the plate. "I wonder how long you're going to keep this charade up, poppet." he murmured thoughtfully.

I looked back at him, frowning in genuine confusion. "What charade?"

Oliver leaned back, resting his weight on his palms as he smiled at me calmly. "The one where you're pretending you read about us in some mythical book."

 _OH SHIT._ My mind blurted eloquently, and I scowled at him, trying to cover whatever slip I had made. "Why is it so hard for you to believe? Are all the colors you wear grinding down your perception of reality as well as your sanity?" I snapped, rather proud of the first insult I had dared to throw at him.

Oliver's mirthless smile merely grew as he raised a hand, beginning to tick off reasons on slender pale fingers. "One, I took a very long time to make _absolutely sure_ no such books existed. Two, even if you _had_ , why on _earth_ would you have not tried to locate said book when you were hunting us, so that your comrades could share your knowledge _without_ depending on your dubious human memory? And thirdly-" He leaned forward, his smile turning vicious as he made his _coup de grâce_. "You knew who our originals were before they told you, too. And I know for an absolute _fact_ that no book was _ever_ written about them, nor a book that spoke of both sets of us at once."

Shit shit shit shit shit, I had forgotten when I had first met Italy and blurted his name without thinking.

I shrugged in a surly fashion, trying not to panic again. "So? What does it matter how I know? I know, and there's absolutely no way anybody else can find out except from me."

Oliver's bright smile dimmed somewhat. "Yes, I am aware of that, poppet. However, curiosity nags me." He began picking at the cupcake, breaking off a few crumbs. "After all, you did ruin most of my plans. I can salvage them, but it won't be easy." Suddenly he grabbed me by the hair and forced the crumbs into my mouth, pinching my nose shut and holding my jaw so that I could not breathe until I swallowed. I struggled, but I couldn't stop him, and the need for air outweighed my will: even though I fought not to swallow, my body did.

Oliver let go with a smirk and sat back again, wiping his hands on a brightly embroidered handkerchief from his pocket.

"Now, all we have to do is wait."

I stared at him in horror, raising my bound hands to feel my throat.

"What the hell did you just feed me?"

Oliver's satisfied expression turned mockingly innocent. "Why, poppet, I fed you a cupcake!" he squeaked, and I glared at him.

"That was no more a normal cupcake than I'm the Queen of England."

2p!England scratched his cheek, a wicked smirk beginning to break through. "Well, it did have a few drops of a special little truth potion I made somewhere in there. So, how _did_ you know about us?"

The question was so casually asked that I opened my mouth without thinking.

"Online. There's a site there."

I instantly clamped my mouth shut, horrified. _Why the hell did I just say that?!_

Oliver's eyes gleamed like a hunting hawk's. "Online, like the internet? Is that another lie, poppet?"

I bit the inside of my mouth and looked away, struggling not to answer. Somehow, a _"no"_ suddenly slipped out as he grinned in satisfaction, leaning back.

"So you weren't _quite,/em > lying when you said that you read it, correct?"_

__

A quick _"yes"_ slipped out once more, despite my desperate attempts to keep quiet. I turned red in humiliation, staring shamefully at my bound hands. I was ratting like a filthy, no-good traitor, and I couldn't stop myself!

__

"So does this site contain information on all of us?"

__

"Yes. Many different people. Writing. Some disagree on various points of behavior and history, but most everyone agrees on the general appearance."

__

"Which is?"

__

"Same as you actually look like, apparently."

__

"Ah. So this is how you knew about us?"

__

"Yes."

__

Oliver grinned at me and ruffled my hair mockingly, standing with a grunt. "That's enough for now, I think. You're obviously fighting against the potion, and if it damages you, I'll lose my information."

__

He started walking away, leaving the tray full of cupcakes behind. "Eat as many as you like. Some have a little extra ingredient, some don't. Have _fun_ guessing which is which~"

__

Oliver began to close the door, and spared another malicious grin in my direction. "I'll turn the lights off. You obviously prefer the dark."

__

With a flick of the switch, I was plunged into darkness again, and I curled up into a little ball of shame. Sure, the information wouldn't harm my friends (or at least I hoped so) but the sheer ease at which I had volunteered information disgusted me. Terror still pulsed in my chest, too, the instinctive bone-deep primal fear of any living thing trapped without hope of escape, and it melded with the disgust and shame, not to mention the memories of what Oliver and his comrades could _do_ to me, in unhealthy ways, swirling a sludgy, depressive morass of thoughts around and around in my brain. Now that it was dark again, and Oliver wouldn't visit for a while, I felt it was marginally safe to release those emotions in a good, therapeutic cry.

__

So I did.

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-Posted: February 5th, 2020, 2.50 PM USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: December 31st, 2014, 7.31 PM USA Central Time


	28. In Which "I Can't Decide"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Might I mention the temperature dropped to -37 degrees out the morning I originally posted this? And we still had school?
> 
> …and that I took the bus at roughly 7.40 in the morning?
> 
> Needless to say, it was cold. Very cold. And, sadly, the temperature only rose to -5 by the time we went home, which, by the way, was three in the afternoon. SO. COLD. On the plus side, because of the extreme cold, only about half (sometimes less) of the people in class showed up, so our teachers really didn't make us do that much. 
> 
> The song that 2p!England's listening to is called I Can't Decide by the Scissor Sisters. Also, somebody did a video on Youtube of the song as a tribute to 2p!England, so search "Hetalia I Can't Decide" if you feel so inclined and it'll probably be there somewhere.

_Arya's POV:_

After I had finished crying and rubbing the evidence of my tears off my face, I awkwardly sat up again, although I was still deeply depressed.

I took a few deep breathes, trying to calm myself down. _You aren't dead yet, Arya. Focus on that. As long as you aren't dead, you can still win this._ Oliver still hadn't returned, hadn't even passed by, as far as I could tell.

I decided to search for something to help untie my hands and legs, like a serendipitous badly hammered nail or broken piece of glass. As soon as that thought occurred to me, I remembered that the floor was concrete, and winced.

 _Okay, maybe just a broken bit of glass or something._

I cracked my neck and began searching. After a few unedifying moments of awkward crawling, I figured out a gait that I could use without doing the worm for every inch, and made rapid progress.

Unfortunately for my escape efforts, that progress revealed that I was in, more or less, a big stone box. The door was the only break in the smooth concrete room, no windows, no furniture, no hangings on the wall, no nothing. I was absolutely alone except for myself and the tray of cupcakes.

_Wait a second. Oliver said that there were some "surprises" in the cupcakes, and didn't that one story say that sometimes he hid razors in his cupcakes…?_

I quickly scuffled over, gingerly picking up one and squeezing the fluffy pastry. I didn't feel anything inside, and I was sure as hell not _eating_ the damned thing. I picked up another one did it once more. The fourth cupcake yielded an oblong object, and I picked it out, rubbing it on my pants and feeling around the object in the dark. It _felt_ like some kind of Swiss Army Knife.

I flicked out a corkscrew, a strangely pronged thing I suspected was some kind of bottle opener, and a nail file before the device finally yielded a sharp edge. I set it against my binding and began to saw it back and forth.

_***Time Skip***_

Hands and feet finally free, I cautiously got to my feet and tucked the various accouterments back into the Swiss Army Knife, leaving the blade out. Sure, it was barely an inch long, but the tiny knife was infinitely better than nothing.

I felt my way to the door and then groped towards the light switch. Turning it on, my eyes watered for a few seconds before I adjusted and took a deep breath. I then knelt, preparing to at least _attempt_ to pick the lock on the door, before it silently swung open at my slightest push.

I froze. _That was intentional. He left the door open on his own. There's no **way** he could've forgotten to lock it._ I thought with a soft whimper, then shook my head and got myself together. _And now that I think about it, he left a very obvious hint about the cupcakes too. Is he…testing me? Trying to see how far I'll get?_

I set my jaw. _Well, he'll sure as hell see me get pretty fucking far._

I peeked around the door frame, seeing a long, dark hallway, and nobody in it. In hindsight, I turned the light in the room off, then crept out and closed the door.

I flattened myself against the hallway wall, taking slow, deep, and as-silent-as-possible breaths. _They caught you off guard before because you weren't paying attention. Pay attention. The slightest feeling of sickness, of vertigo, of **anything** , get ready for an attack._ I thought firmly, beginning to inch along the wall. Light was coming from a room beside or near the hallway, and to my surprise, I also heard faint singing.

I blinked a few times, confused. _None of the stuff I've ever read says anything about any of the 2p!s singing…but doesn't the original England sing? I mean, he did have a punk phase, right? So did Oliver just pick up on that or…_

As I took another two or three scooting steps closer, I realized it wasn't Oliver singing with a sense of both confusion and relief. _Why the hell is he listening to music?_

I heard vaguely distracted humming as I nearly came around the corner of the hall, and what was most likely Oliver's footsteps sashaying around the kitchen. The music was coming to me clearly now, and I made a face. It was a bit too…bouncy for my tastes.

_"I'm not a gangster tonight, don't wanna be a bad guy-"_

I nervously looked behind me, squinting at the darkness to check if anyone was sneaking up on me, before taking a deep breath to steel my nerves.

_"I'm just a loner baby, and now you've got in my way-"_

I peeked around the corner to see –in retrospect, predictably– Oliver skipping around a kitchen with an iPod softly blaring music from its spot on the counter. I also glimpsed an assortment of cupcake pans on the counter as well, and a large mixing bowl filled with batter.

A sweatdrop hung over my head. _It's not exactly the time to be thinking this, but does **everything** this guy think of revolve around baking?_

_"I can't decide~, whether you should live or die~! Oh, you'll probably go to heaven, so please don't hang your head and cry-"_

_And killing._ I amended, taking another deep breath and starting to tiptoe towards the door I saw across the room, at the "end" of the hallway, which seemed to lead outside.

_"No wonder why my heart feels dead inside, it's cold and hard and petrified! Lock the doors and close the blinds, I'm going for a ride!"_

Nearly halfway. I risked another glance at Oliver, and miraculously, he seemed completely absorbed in his cooking. _I can't fucking believe this._ I thought in disgust, taking another step forward. But at that thought, I stopped dead. _If something seems too good to be true, it usually is._ I reminded myself suspiciously, then remembered that Oliver knew magic. And that a hell of a lot of fanfictions showed him using traps on the floor.

I looked down, and silently snarled in frustration.

_That bloody little **fucker**._

Interwoven with the carpet were many small sigils, based on the various pentacles like I had seen the Englands use both in the anime and in person, and currently, my left foot was on one of them.

My mind promptly went blank. I had no idea what to do. What did the pentacles do? What would happen if I took my foot off this one now that I had seen it? Would anything happen? I had been walking on them without a hitch so far, so what the hell did they do? How were they activated?

_Shit shit shit shit, I'm overthinking this, he's going to see me, he's going to see me!_

Considering all possible alternatives, I did something strategically unsound. Mentally screaming _"fuck it"_ , I began using the sigils like hopscotch squares, avoiding the "bare" carpet.

To my surprise, I had almost made it to the door before there was a solid _"swish-thunk"_ and an overly large butcher knife was quivering in front of me, half-buried in the wall and blocking my way rather effectively.

I looked to the side and glared at Oliver as he smiled genially, waving a finger in a "tsk tsk" motion. "Now poppet, don't you know it's rude to leave someone's home without saying goodbye?" he chided, and in answer, I grabbed the butcher knife with both hands and yanked it out of the wall, turning to face him with it.

"I'm American. Rudeness is in our natures, now, if you don't mind, I'm booking it." I said shortly, still intensely peeved at myself for spilling the beans to him, partial and drugged beans as they were. He merely giggled to himself, assuming something of a neko expression, before calmly skipping over to me.

I raised my butcher knife, unsure of just what the hell he was doing. "I'm warning you." I said uncertainly, and his catlike grin widened.

 _"Are_ you now? And just _what_ are you warning me about?" he cooed as he tilted his head to the side, and I blinked twice, nonplussed.

_Is he seriously losing his mind?_

"The fact that if you come another step closer, I'm going to ram this through your gut." I said impatiently, raising my weapon further.

Oliver deliberately, insolently took a single step closer, still grinning. "Are you now, poppet? Do you have the strength for that? There are quite a few organs in my abdomen, you know. You'd have to thrust that knife right on through my stomach to stop me from-" Here he flicked out a razor I hadn't noticed in his hand. "- _harming_ you as I bleed out. It takes a while for someone to die from a gut wound, you know, and that knife isn't suited for slitting throats."

 _Shit._

My eyes moved towards his chest, wondering if I could maybe get him through his heart, and he chuckled, jerking my gaze up to his face. "Really now, poppet, right there? You have no experience killing people at _all!"_ Oliver tittered, pressing his hand to his lips as if genuinely amused by my efforts to assess where to stab him. "There are far, _far_ too many bones in the way for you to try it with a big clumsy knife like that! Why-"

He suddenly moved, and before I knew it he had the razor jammed up under my ribs and the hand with the butcher knife pinned against the wall. "Even _I'd_ have trouble with this little blade of mine here!"

I growled at him, trying to jerk my hand free, but hissed when I felt a sting in my ribs and shortly afterward, a warm, wet, trickling sensation down my side.

"And do stop trying to squirm about. It's rather undignified behavior for a lady of your age."

I glared at him. "You want undignified?"

My clenched fist stuck against his jaw as Oliver stumbled slightly, his eyes losing focus for a split second, and I rammed the butcher knife as hard as I could up, scraping his ribs and forcing the blade into the gap I felt between them. 2p!England choked, blood flecking his lips and my face, and I shoved him away from me, backing towards the door.

He staggered and collapsed on his side, blood pouring onto the carpet, and I gulped, bile rising in my throat. _Okay, I just killed a guy. Take it as it comes and get the fuck out._

I turned back towards the door, trying to calm my hysteria, but I was interrupted by _laughter._

I whirled around, seeing Oliver rise from the floor, blood still pouring from his side. He pulled the knife out with a sick _"squilsh"_ , his blood covering the blade in a slick red sheen. He smiled at me with a hint of annoyance in his features, his face nearly demented with glee and pain.

"I hate to tell you this poppet, but even aside from being nations, as long as your precious originals are alive, none of us "Second Players" will die." Oliver chuckled weakly, and brandished the butcher knife at me with a macabre grin. _"Unfortunately_ for you, I don't believe the same is true in _your_ case."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-Posted: February 5th, 2020, 3.02 PM USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: January 7th, 2015, 9.06 PM USA Central Time


	29. In Which Allen Gives Vent

_Arya's POV:_

Assessing the situation, I was in really deep shit. Oliver apparently couldn't die unless I somehow killed the real England too, and obviously I wasn't going to try _that_. He also had a large butcher knife and a maliciously gleeful air about him. I had a small razor that was better suited for, what I assumed, slitting throats and opening baking goods than defending against a much, _much_ larger blade. He knew the layout of the house, I didn't. He most likely had allies nearby, I almost certainly didn't. He knew how to kill someone quickly and effectively, I had no clue. He really wasn't fond of me and I really didn't like him.

Yeah. Things weren't looking good for me.

They only worsened when there was a knock on the door. Oliver's eyes didn't leave me, but he rose his voice so the person or people on the other side could hear.

"Who is it? And _please_ don't come in quite yet."

There was a nonplussed silence, and then the doorknob rattled. "It's me and Matt, now why they fuck aren't we allowed inside?" a familiar voice snarled, and a slow grin spread across Oliver's face.

"Allen, would one of you please stay outside so our dear guest doesn't attempt to leave us? I don't think she's satisfied with our hospitality." he chirped happily, smirking at me with malicious eyes. I winced visibly, and yelped when the door slammed open, a familiar figure barging through.

"Who the fuck-" he began, but then his crimson eyes landed on me, and they lit up with murderous intent as he brandished his bloody baseball bat. _"YOU!"_

I cut and ran, heading for the stairs I saw on the right side of the hallway earlier. _Oliver downstairs in the kitchen, Matt at the door, a dead-end hallway, and Allen behind me. The only way to go is up._ I hastened to reassure myself, sheathing the razor hurriedly as I ran, so that if I fell I wouldn't cut myself.

"Get the fuck back here you fucking little bitch!" 2p!America roared from behind me, pounding up the stairs after me.

 _Good luck with that._ I thought deliriously as I skidded around a corner, my eyes roaming frantically for an exit. _Window glass break smash out get._

I darted for the window frantically, but suddenly ran smack into what felt like a sheer wall in the thin air and bounced backward, landing on my ass.

 _Damnit, remember the magic bit._ I reminded myself, rolling to my feet and sprinting for yet another staircase. I heard cursing behind me as Allen apparently ran into the same wall, and had to stifle a snicker as he roared "TAKE THE FUCKING MAGIC OFF YOU DAMN IDIOT!"

But laughing depleted precious running oxygen, and he was still coming after me a few seconds later.

_Fuck fuck fuck fuck, where the hell is another exit that he won't put magic on?!_

In a flash, I remembered something from a favorite anime of mine, and just in time too, as I skidded to a halt inside a dusty attic.

_The air vents._

Looking wildly around, to my surprise and astonishingly good fortune, there was a large one just out of reach in a corner piled high with crates and boxes. I jumped on top of one, then another, and wrenched the grating off, using my fingernails and sheer, desperate strength just as Allen came rushing into the room. I dove headfirst inside the vent just as he noticed what I was trying to do.

"OH NO YOU FUCKING DON'T!" the nation snarled from behind me, and I yelped as there were several crashing sounds drawing near, and then a iron-strong hand on my left ankle, hauling me back.

I hissed in panic and kicked backwards with my other foot: he swore and I felt him dodge the movement, probably dropping his bat so he could grab me with both hands. I found the crease of another vent and dug my fingers in, heaving myself forward and _nearly_ out of his grip before I felt 2p!America's other hand on my ankle, yanking me backwards with all the force of a hate-filled, national superpower.

I screamed as I felt my nails break and bleed as I was mercilessly wrenched backwards another few feet, and slammed my foot back one more time. By luck or coincidence, it slammed into either his nose or his face, and 2p!America screamed a ,em>"fuck!" and let go with one hand for a brief moment, letting me try to kick free and pull myself forward. I broke out of his grip and frantically scuttled forward, but then I felt his hand groping for my ankle, finding it, and seizing it hard enough that I bit my lip, choking off another cry of pain.

"GET-"

He pulled viciously.

"-THE FUCK-"

Another hard yank.

"-BACK HERE-"

I was slipping, oh god, I was slipping, he was going to win.

"-YOU LITTLE BITCH!"

With one last pull, he ripped me out of the vent and flung me bodily across the room, crashing into and through several other cardboard boxes.

My fingers bleeding from my cracked nails and efforts to hold on, I staggered upright, swallowing hard as 2p!America snatched up his nailed bat, his blood-red eyes absolutely livid.

"You wanna fuck with me?!" he growled, advancing on my position with a murderous gleam in his eyes that boded extremely ill for me, his nose pouring blood.

 _Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck._ I thought in blind panic, stumbling backwards. I tripped over a package of something –or a box, it didn't really _matter_ – and fell on my ass once more, still scooting away as fast as I could, my eyes huge as I stared helplessly up at the infuriated nation. Suddenly he took three huge steps forward, and was right above me as he raised the bat above his head. My eyes went even wider and I covered my head instinctively as 2p!America slammed it downward.

I gave a short scream as I felt the nails tear open my right arm, and then there was another devastating blow to my side what felt like only a few seconds later, and I curled up in a fetal position, still covering my head, as his blows rained down upon me. 2p!America was obviously used to using his bat as an offensive weapon, and the nails made what would ordinarily be a simple beating (simple being a deeply relative term) into something not only incredibly painful, but something incredibly damaging. I felt blood trickling down my arms and sides, and lots of it pooling under me and on my sides. He was screaming at me, swearing, insulting, demeaning, after a while, it all blurred together into an endless cacophony of hatred and anger, and my vision was flickering like a guttering candle by the time I heard a different voice break the rhythm.

_"Allen…I wanted…alive…"_

_"Fuck you…s…still is…fuckin…got angry…broke m…nose…"_

_"…poppet…unconscious…back to…room…"_

I blacked out once more.

_3rd Person POV:_

"Vee~, Germany?"

The blonde nation turned around as he saw Italy scampering over to him.

 _"Ja?"_

He and Prussia had just been leaving another follow-up conference, trying to find out just where the hell the last three 2p!s remaining had ended up. Italy was looking uncharacteristically worried.

"Have you two seen Ari? She wasn't at my house when I got home…"

Prussia chuckled nervously. "Kesese…I'm sure she's just…you know…still wandering around. Maybe she's PMSing?" he tried with a parody of his normal laugh, but it was obvious he was concerned.

Italy shook his head worriedly. "She didn't come home for pasta…Ari loves my pasta…Romano always says that that was the only way you could ever tell she's related to us…" Italy whimpered.

Alarm bells started going off in Germany's head. He turned to Prussia, his intent evident in his eyes.

The former nation held up the car keys to his repaired (and enhanced) car. "Scratch it und I come after your ass with a machine gun. I can tell ze other nations."

Germany took the keys gratefully and nodded to Italy. "Italy, you go tell Romano what happened, alright? Then meet up with us where we usually do training."

The Italian nation saluted with a bit more panache than usual. "Yes sir!"

Germany nodded to them both as they went off in opposite directions, heading for where the country cars were parked as he pulled out his cell.

"Romania, Norway, Arya's gone again. We don't know where she is, start probing the area around my usual training grounds for magic, _bitte."_ he said into it, then stashed his phone in his pocket and continued onward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-Posted: February 5th, 2020, 3.08 PM USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: January 8th, 2015, 6.11 PM USA Central Time


	30. In Which Hunger Visits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I mean to my OCs? *sweatdrop* I'm mean to my OCs. I'm pretty sure that, given another working option, they'd totally quit my employ and go somewhere else. I mean, look what I've done to Arya so far; poisoned/drugged, kidnapped not once but twice, stabbed, gotten into several car crashes, bruised ribs, and now our dearest darling-est 2p!America has pretty much beaten her half to death with that monstrosity he calls a baseball bat. 
> 
> …Did I mention this is only about halfway through my planned plotline? *another sweatdrop* Hang in there Arya, my OCs always manage to live through their stories…conditionally.

Arya's POV:

The first thing in my head as I woke up for the second time in what I assumed to be as many days was the fact I had a raging headache and tasted copper in my mouth. Next: that my arms hurt, a lot. In fact, I hurt all over.

Then my memory caught up to me, and I cringed, a low whimper catching in my throat.

Okay, note to self, do not piss Allen off. Ever. Again. 

Then I noticed the position I was in –my arms were above my head, held there by something cold and slick. I was cross-legged, leaning against what seemed to be another cold concrete wall. With a gargantuan effort, I managed to peel my eyes open, and the world, blurry and dark at first, slowly came into focus.

2p!Canada was leaning against the wall next to the door, smoking something. He was in nearly an identical position, except his hands were shoved in his pockets, and his hockey stick was laid across his knees.

His dull purple eyes met mine at around the same time I noticed him, and a mirthless smirk shifted his cigarette slightly.

"Well, look who's up."

I glared at him witheringly, but was certainly in no condition to start a fight, and instead of talking smack looked up, seeing that my hands were locked in manacles and bound above my head. The metal circles were slick with my semi-dried blood.

Matt, noticing the look, chuckled darkly. "Al fucked you up pretty good –but it never hurts to be safe. Especially when we're dealing with a little bitch like you." 

I intensified my glare. Okay, that constitutes a verbal response. 

"Listen buddy, it's not my fault you kidnapped me. You take me against my will, you better be damn prepared for the consequences." I said flippantly, forcing myself to relax and lean arrogantly back against the wall.

2p!Canada stood up, slinging the hockey stick over his shoulder, and took three quick strides across the room, jerking me upwards by the hair and slamming his hockey stick against my throat so that I gagged and struggled for air, feeling wounds reopen all over my body. His purple eyes bored into mine, his face twisted in an angry sneer.

"And you fuck with us, bitch, you better be prepared to take some pain." he snarled, blowing nicotine smoke into my face as he spoke.

2p!Canada dropped me and I landed on my ass, the chains jerking slightly at my wrists as I did. I glowered up at him resentfully as he stood over me for a moment, a warning clear in his eyes, before turning again and striding back to his spot.

The blond leaned his hockey stick against the wall and slumped bonelessly down against it, watching me with boredom clear in his eyes.

 _Great, now I have a guard **and** chains._ I thought in irritation, looking up at my bound hands. _Well, I can't pick a lock, and he sure as hell isn't going anywhere._

I sighed in defeat, settling down against the wall and watching the Canadian with equal apathy.

The only thing to do now is wait for the situation to change.

_***Time Skip***_

I went cold with fear as the door clicked open a few hours later and Matt looked up, then raised an eyebrow.

"Don't tell me he actually trusted you not to break more of her bones?" he asked Allen flatly, and the seemingly perpetually-angry nation glared at him, his hand visibly tightening on his baseball bat, the nails on the end still covered in my blood.

"Shut the fuck up, treehumper, and go help him set things up." he spat, jerking his head towards the door, and Matt shrugged to himself, picking up his hockey stick and sauntering out.

"I'll check back in ten minutes, see how much blood you've spilled."

And with that parting comment, the door closed again, and I was left with someone who had quite gleefully beaten me into unconsciousness a few hours before.

Since even looking in his direction caused an angry glare and warning growl, I peeked under my eyelashes, checking to see how much damage I had caused _him_. To my disappointment, the only signs of a fight were the bloodstains on the front of his white shirt, evidence of the broken nose I had given him earlier.

He had already healed. What a pity.

I sighed and leaned back, tapping a foot against the floor absently. There was a lengthy silence.

_You know, after being kidnapped and thrown into a situation where nobody in the entire world likes me, and most have a bone to pick with me, boredom is not an acceptable emotion for me to be feeling._

And yet, astoundingly, I was bored. I was sitting in a room with a psychopath who had nearly beaten my brains out no less than nine or ten feet away, muttering angrily under his breath, and I was bored.

My stomach rumbled, and I amended that statement. Bored and _hungry_. I hadn't eaten since…since…okay, when _had_ Oliver force fed me the cupcake crumbs? Since then. _Before_ then, as two or three rather small chunks of vanilla cupcake most certainly did not constitute as a meal.

As I was daydreaming about this, my stomach rumbled again, and I let out an embarrassing squeak as Allen suddenly snarled in frustration and slammed the end of his bat on the floor.

"Shut your stomach the fuck up!" he spat at me, and I glared back, hunger and indignation forcing me into a dangerous temper.

"How the hell am I supposed to do that?! I haven't had anything to eat since before you freaks kidnapped me!" I nearly screeched back, and he snarled another curse and turned to punch the wall next to him.

"Fuck!"

He suddenly stood, stalking out of the room with his fists bunched at his sides. Less than a minute later, he was back, carrying, to my surprise, a plate of food. He stomped over to me, obviously loathing every step, and slammed the plate down in between my legs. "There's your fucking food! Now eat!" he snapped, and I deadpanned, a tick mark twitching on my forehead.

"Firstly, I don't trust anything from that freak's kitchen. Secondly, I can't eat shit with my hands tied up like this." I swung my wrists back and forth a little in demonstration.

Allen's crimson eyes simmered with anger, and he growled another curse, slapping his palm over his face. "The cupcake bastard already had this plate ready-made, so you're not going to die. And if you wanna eat it, you figure it out. I brought you your damn food, you eat it on your own." he ground out, obviously very close to losing his temper, and promptly spun on his heel, stomping back to his "spot".

I looked down at the plate distrustfully. A plain lettuce-and-tomato sandwich, some crackers, and an apple.

_Okay except for the sandwich, this all looks like packaged food, so it's probably safe to eat._

I leaned forward as far as I could with my hands tied above my head, but only managed to get about a foot and a half away from the plate. I jerked my wrists a bit, but the chains did not give even a millimeter.

_Fuuuck…_

I attempted scooping up and balancing the plate on my knees, and got it into my lap with shaky success…and then paused again. _Okay, I still can't reach my food, and Grumpy over there is more likely to bash my brains out than help me…_

I sighed again and resigned myself to another few hours without food: that is, until someone at least slightly more sympathetic to me had guard duty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-Posted: February 5th, 2020, 3.15 PM USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: January 9th, 2015, 8.48 PM USA Central Time


	31. In Which We Have a Revelation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, what Gillen tells Arya about the 2p!s is my own headcannon/desperate attempt to rationalize the presence of 2ps in the normal Hetalia verse, if they ever do/did show up. Maybe they can do another movie, where like instead of fighting the Pictonians they fight the 2ps. Is that a good idea? I think so.

_Arya's POV:_

I was dozing against the wall, my hands still held above my head by the manacles. Allen had been replaced by Wang Zao, who had been replaced by Luciano, who had been replaced by Kuro, who was currently dozing against the wall in a deceptively relaxed pose. It had been him who had finally helped me eat the food, and now, my stomach no longer snarling with hunger, I was comfortable enough to try and get some sleep. Even my current guard seemed to agree with that current mood, but I knew that the instant I so much as shifted an inch, he'd jerk upright, and the katana balanced between his knees would clear its sheath by at least five inches in readiness.

So it wasn't exactly a _deep_ sleep that I had fallen into, but a doze, because now I was comfortable enough with my current guard to know they wouldn't attempt to kill me in my sleep. I had personally bested Allen, Zao, and Luciano before, and none of them seemed to be the type to take that sort of thing lightly. Kuro had apparently accepted his defeat philosophically, with the attitude of _Well, she beat me once, but now I have beaten her. The board is even, there is no need for further retaliation._

After shift after shift where the 2p across from me radiated a vibe of _one toe out of line and I'll fucking kill you and do it gladly,_ this was almost relaxing.

Both of us jerked out of our respective dozes when we heard a scraping noise.

Kuro looked at me suspiciously, and I squirmed around, trying to look behind me, where it seemed to be coming from.

Footsteps sounded, and Kuro grabbed me by the shoulder and yanked me away from the wall –I stifled a yelp as the ruthless motion dug the metal into my wrists harshly.

2p!Japan stared at the wall piercingly, his crimson eyes carefully blank, showing not a hint of the emotion therein. He drew the rest of his katana out slowly, keeping the scabbard in his opposite hand as he let go of me and backed away from the wall slightly, giving himself room to swing his sword if necessary. I dared to feel a trickle of hope.

_Is it Germany and Prussia? They…couldn't possibly have **brought** Italy…and Romano would never have come without them…_

Suddenly the wall burst inward a few inches to my left, and Kuro hissed something in Japanese as a chip hit him in the shoulder, but was cut off as a rugged block smacked into his forehead with an ugly _"thwock"_ sound, tumbling silently to the ground as more concrete rained around him.

I blinked as my rescuer –he was a rescuer, right?– stepped out from the hole in the wall, kicking aside some rubble. I wasn't familiar enough with this particular 2p's traits to recognize _him_ on sight specifically, but, well, they did all look more or less like the originals, the color scheme was just usually different. He retained the original's hair color, which was covered by four or five layers of dirt and grime, and badly cut, hanging down past his shoulders, and instead of military-esque button-up shirts, he wore a ragged hoodie, which was covered in more dirt, as well as some equally poorly-repaired jeans. As he turned to me, I caught sight of some faint scars on his face, and dull blue eyes, under which were large bags, as if he rarely slept.

All and all, he looked like a certain Germanic nation I knew, just one who had let himself go, badly…and with blue eyes instead of red.

I squinted at him.

"You're….uh, Gillen, right?"

_***Time Skip***_

In retrospect, I thought as I belly-crawled along the tunnel 2p!Prussia had dug, I was being _really_ stupid. I had no real evidence of certain members of the 2p community being less psycho than the others, so, in theory, I was blindly following a relatively unknown 2p on a fucking hunch.

 _It's not like he gave me much of a choice though…_ I thought with a sweatdrop, remembering how he had merely grabbed and snapped the chains, picked me up by the collar of my shirt, and more or less threw me into the tunnel, where I had the choice of either crawling or holding him up, which I sensed was not going to end well for me.

I blinked when the tunnel widened out a little, and shuffled forward more eagerly, glad to have the chance to get out. I wasn't claustrophobic, per say, but I was usually the tallest person and therefore the heaviest in any group I was part of, and there was always that lingering knowledge of _if anyone's going to get stuck in a tight spot, fall through the ice, get spotted by the enemy, it's going to be me,_ hanging in the back of my mind.

I came to a dead halt when I felt a hand on my shoulder.

"Don't move."

I froze accordingly, wondering just what the hell was going on, and Gillen squirmed past me, dislodging earth on his way, and suddenly came to a halt, getting his knees under himself and standing.

He reached upward, and with a creaking sound, earth pattered down around us and a few shafts of the weak, watery sunshine that permeated the 2p world leaked down into the darkness. 2p!Prussia shuffled around for a bit, perhaps checking for other people, and then with a wrenching sound, shoved whatever trapdoor or covering there was off the hole, and to my unfortunately light-sensitive eyes, seemingly bathing the entire tunnel with light.

He turned slightly and jerked his chin at the hole. "C'mon."

2p!Prussia clambered upwards, and, nothing loathe, I followed, and sighed in relief as I was met with my first breath of fresh air in several days.

We were in the open space I had seen before (I think), which turned out to be a somewhat-more-green space than anything here in "2pLand" that I had seen to date, for it was a meadow with a bunch of forlorn, bedraggled grass stems that came up to about my knee height, and some various weeds and shrubs that were bigger, towering above our heads. Most of the plant life here was still dead or struggling, but the sheer volume of it meant the world around me had changed from a monotonous blur of reddish brick, dull grey stone and concrete, tired-looking browns and blacks, and some greenish-brown threads of grass, to a large blur of varying shades of brownish green, greenish brown, faded green, and faded brown, which, oddly enough, made this part of the world strangely cheerful. We had just emerged from a seemingly random hole in the ground, and as I watched, Gillen grabbed a piece of sod and turned it over the hole, revealing that the "sod" was in fact a cunningly disguised piece of wood, with plants growing on the top.

He looked at me for a long moment, then suddenly grunted and beckoned me towards a large clump of the dead shrubs. Following him, I noticed we were on a tiny path, and that everything else was thickly growing, to the point of near impenetrability. My suspicions were _nearly_ moot at this point, but not entirely. I doubted he would go to all this trouble merely to kill me, but, well, to quote several movies, there were things worse than death, and the number of people I could even _potentially_ trust in this world were virtually none.

I coughed politely.

No response.

"Hey, um, Mister Beilschmidt?"

He shrugged dismissively, still not answering.

Frustration sparked at my core, and I came to a halt, folding my arms and taking a belligerent stance. "Listen buddy, I appreciate you getting me away from those other freaks, but I have no idea where you're taking me or why you're taking me there, and I ain't going another step until you tell me."

His back stiffened, but he stopped walking and turned around to lot at me, irritation glinting in his deep blue eyes.

"…you're right to be cautious, but I haf no intention of harming you or killing you or vhatever other daft ideas you're thinking up." 2p!Prussia finally muttered, his voice low and gravelly, like he didn't talk much, and had spent quite a lot of time near smoke or something.

I blinked twice. "So, again, not to be ungrateful, why _did_ you help me if you don't really care what happens to me?"

He shrugged soundlessly again. It seemed to be his favorite gesture.

I eyed him suspiciously. _2p!Prussia has inferiority or self-esteem problems and is supposedly depressed…so is he like jealous of the fact his original was helping me out? Or is he trying to get back at the other 2p!s for being ignored or treated as inferior or whatever?_

He caught the suspicious look and gave me a surly glare.

"I'm guessing, since you knew my name on sight, you know who I am?"

I nodded. "You're Prussia's Second Player…person…thing." I said sheepishly, and he furrowed his brow.

"Second player? Vat in the hell is a "Second Player"?" he grumbled, and I raised an eyebrow.

"You guys, you know, everyone here. You're the Second Players."

He snorted, shaking his head. "Vhatever crazy things zat book told you, they're wrong. We aren't "second" anything."

Shock flooded my system, along with the wounded pride that came with knowing you had been wrong about something you were certain was right. "Not second anything? Than what are you?" I snapped, and he raised his own eyebrow.

"We're the underground. Ze criminal undergrounds of our nations."

My eyes widened. "Oh. _Oh."_

In retrospect, it was rather obvious. They looked alike, sounded alike, _were_ alike. That was because, in how many goddamned documentaries about the various heinous criminal organizations, had the narrator stressed that they were like a _nation within a nation_ , how the American and British and German and Italian criminal worlds were like their parent nations, and yet with their own reasons to hate each other, to work together, and to ally with each other. It made so much twisted sense. 2p!America was violent, because how _many_ violent crimes were there in America, really? 2p!China, the opium addiction, 2p!Italy, the mafia style of operation, 2p!Japan, the _yakuza_ tattoos and the sense of honor, it all made too much fucking sense to be anything but the truth.

It also explained quite neatly _why_ the 2p!s hated their originals so much: they were natural enemies, and they had always fought each other, and presumably always _would_ fight each other, from their pure differences alone.

But that still didn't explain why 2p!Prussia had helped _me._

"Alright, so you _are_ the undergrounds or whatever you call 'em. That still doesn't explain why you're helping _me."_ I said crushingly, putting both hands on my hips, and a thin and bitter smile twisted his lips.

"Call it un twisted form of altruism. Mein nation, when he could still remember me, wasn't all zat bad a guy. Now zat neither of us are un established nation, you could say our hostilities abated. Then when Olivier erased the memories of us from our original's minds for his plan…you could say I vas a bit pissed, since _Preußen_ was ze only one zat ever recognized me. I'm helping you for zat."

I considered this point for a moment.

"Alright…sounds legit enough." I conceded reluctantly. "Now how the hell am I going to get home?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-Posted: February 5th, 2020, 3.24 PM USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: January 15th, 2015, 11.41 AM USA Central Time


	32. In Which We "Talk Und Plan"

_Arya's POV:_

"It's perfectly simple."

"Yeah, if you're a fucking moron!"

"…And you aren't?"

I glared at Gillen. "And what _exactly_ is that supposed to mean?" I asked through gritted teeth, and he lit up a cigarette.

"You trusted me blindly for un escape route, you pissed off Allen, you haf no idea how to fight und yet you came here, you automatically assumed ve were ze copies or evil alter-egos of our nations…" he listed off lazily as nicotine smoke wafted up across the field, and I scowled at him.

"I'm a teenager."

He glared at me. "Zat's no excuse. Ve are not playing for ze small-time prizes: Oliver ist going for ze big leagues."

I blinked several times, momentarily distracted. "Wait a second… If what you're saying is true and he voluntarily sucked you guys into this alternate world-place-thingy, why is he so desperate to get back? And why erase all the originals' memories of yourselves?" I asked in confusion, and he sucked in another long breath on his cigarette.

"You've seen how zis place ist ze pits, _ja?"_

I nodded warily. "Yeah…"

He waved a hand to indicate the field. "Well, it vasn't always like zat. At first it vas very nice, lots of flowers, grass, green _scheiße_ like zat. But zen suddenly a few years ago, it changed."

I gulped. _Change that would coincide more or less exactly with the "invention" of the 2ps in our world…_ I thought uneasily as he continued smoking, watching me absently as he talked.

"I don't pretend to be a dimension expert, zat's Oliver. But zomething happened that drained this place of its energies, und pulled our auras vay out of shape. Most of us lesser undergrounds vere fine: but for some reason some of ze Allies und Axis began acting strangely. Oliver's cupcakes vould sometimes be color-coded for poison und drugs und human flesh, und sometimes he'd start hating his freckles, even zough he never had a problem with zem before…"

 _Clashing 2p!England stories…_ I thought in fascination, wrapping my bruised and battered arms around my legs.

"Sometimes Allen vould start fighting vith Matt for no reason, und zen be horrified ze next day…he'd become vegan und zen suddenly start eating meat again…he'd haf episodes vhere he both hated und feared und loved Oliver…"

_Clashing 2p!America stories…_

"Und Matt…"

"Und Zao…"

"Und Francois…"

"Und Luciano…"

"Und mein _Bruder_ Lutz…"

"Und Kuro…"

I listened in fascination. This was a side of the 2p!s I had never heard of before.

 _I…I think I get it now…_ I thought slowly as Gillen continued talking. The worlds of Hetalia and the 2p!s are like sheets of paper laid over OUR world…and sometimes some parts of them bleed through, which results in authors like Hidekazu Himaruya writing or drawing mangas about them…and the fan creators also get "psychic bleedthrough"…but sometimes they're wrong, and they write it differently than it is, which bleeds through into THEIR worlds…and changes them…

It technically wasn't that hard, if you subscribed to a certain theory, kind of like hypnosis or psychological warfare: if enough people powerfully believed in something, that something would happen. It even didn't need to be a _powerful_ belief, just if many, many people all thought the same thing, they would influence that thing to a certain extent.

,em>Many, many people, like the many, many fans of many, many anime.

Hell, maybe their belief or knowledge of existence caused the existence of those universes, sometimes.

_I am going to seriously respect fangirls when this is all over._

"So…Oliver zapped you all here for your own world, and erased the memories of the nation so that they wouldn't try and pull you back, but then the…thing…happened and you guys realized that this world quite literally stank, and wanted to get back?" I asked slowly, frowning.

He shrugged and nodded. "Close enough." he muttered, blowing out another long stream of smoke. There was a moment of silence.

"So wait, how would this affect the orig–um, other nations if he succeeds?"

He gave me a glare. "How ze hell am I supposed to know? I only know vat I told you because Oliver announced it a few months ago to everyvone." he snorted, stubbing his cigarette out on a convenient rock.

Which brought me back to our previous argument.

I ran one of my hands through my hair and winced. "Look buddy, there is no way in hell I could manage to sneak _anywhere_. Fucking look at me!" I held my arms out in demonstration. My body was bloodied and covered in bruises from Allen's bat, and there were many long and shallow cuts all over my arms and legs. I looked like a bloody humanoid zebra/cheetah combo, with bloody red stripes and dark purple-black bruises.

Gillen looked at me for a few seconds, then shrugged. "You'll haf to manage."

My eye twitched. "You could _manage_ to dredge up some sympathy for the poor, battered human." I replied, deadpan.

He shrugged again. "You've managed rather vell zis far, especially considering how much ze others vere after you." he pointed out as he lit another cigarette, and I glared at him and shuffled downwind as he blew out another cloud of noxious fumes.

"That's not good for your lungs you know." I informed him tartly.

"Don't care."

"You might give our position away."

"Zey know vere I am. Und zey don't care either."

"Won't they think you had something to do with me escaping?"

"Nein. Vhy vould I care about helping you?"

"For you, everything comes down to not caring, doesn't it?" I muttered, sweatdropping.

2p!Prussia shrugged, his cigarette dangling between his fingers. "Pretty much." he answered.

I sighed and leaned back, resting my battered and bloody elbows on a stump. "So were they any, like, other people here, or just you guys?" I asked, trying to avoid the subject of my imminent demise.

He gave me a hard look. _"Nein_. Und stop avoiding ze issue." he growled. I gulped.

"So you're saying these sigils that Oliver made work for anyone once they step on one?" I asked wearily, and he nodded.

"Ja. You sneak in-"

"-to certain death-"

"-one of ze other's houses, und you use ze sigil-"

"-which I don't know how to use-"

"-to get back home. Look, do you vant to go home, _ja_ or _nein?!"_ 2p!Prussia snapped, pointing the glowing end of the cigarette at me.

I spread my arms in illustration, jabbing a thumb at myself. "I want to get home in one piece, thank you very much! They'll fucking kill me!"

He deadpanned. "Zey won't kill you."

I glared at him. "I sense a continuation to that."

2p!Prussia nodded somewhat sheepishly and put the cigarette back in his mouth. "Zey won't kill you: Oliver vill. He _really_ doesn't like you."

I snorted. "I wonder why…" I muttered, sarcasm dripping from the words as a tick mark throbbed on my forehead. 2p!Prussia looked at me, not unkindly, and knocked the ashes off his cigarette at me.

"Look _fräulein_ , you haf two options at zis point. _Eins_ , you sneak into un house und use ze sigil. _Zwei_ , you vait for your allies to pull you out, again. Ze choice is yours."

I remained sullenly silent, and he continued speaking mercilessly.

"You don't haf your phone, so zey don't know zat you are no longer a prisoner. If zey come to his house, it vill _not_ end vell for zem."

I glared at the ground, squirming a bit on the grass. "Fine…" I muttered in a sulky undertone, hunching my shoulders. "You gonna help me or am I gonna charge into sudden death on my own?"

He rolled his eyes and stubbed out the next cigarette. _"Nein_ , of course not. I take you to…hmm, Allen und Matt's house?"

I looked at him suspiciously. "Aaaaand?" I drawled.

He raised an eyebrow. "Und?"

I made a circling gesture with my hand. "And that's it?"

His other eyebrow rose. "Pretty much, _ja._ Zis is mein revenge, not un all-out war. I help you, you get ze hell out of here und ruin Oliver's plans, und I win by default." he said with a careless shrug.

I sweatdropped. "Your logic process astounds me."

2p!Prussia nodded one last time and stood up, drawing his hoodie over his distinctive white hair. He turned to a bush and rummaged around, then threw another hoodie at me. "Put zat on. We're going to move to ze house in un ten minutes, ven it gets dark."

I hurriedly drew the hoodie over my head, zipping it up and pulling the dark fabric over my head. The hoodie hid most of my injuries, for which I was grateful.

Gillen pulled another cigarette out of a pack in his pocket and looked up at the watery setting sun, clamping it in his mouth.

"You have family?"

I blinked at the odd question. "Eh, um…kinda? I mean, I have relations, like a mom and a dad n' shit, but we're not…close." I mumbled, flushing and looking at my feet.

He flicked a match and put it to his mouth. "You might vant to write a note, say un last goodbye or somezing. You are right about one zing: zis is going to be dangerous."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-Posted: February 5th, 2020, 3.36 PM USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: February 14th, 2015, 9.37 PM USA Central Time


	33. In Which Arya Splits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeknownst to me at the start of this fic, Luxembourg is actually a guy in Hetalia canon. Since he's the only German-speaking nation that even vaguely resembles Arya...
> 
> TRANS 2P!LUXEMBOURG TRANS 2P!LUXEMBOURG TRANS 2P!LUXEMBOURG.

_Arya's POV:_

Night here was _creepy._

Nine out of ten of the streetlights were flickering like the ones in a bad horror movie, and the atmosphere between us was tense. Gillen was still smoking –something he apparently did more or less constantly– and despite his assurances to the contrary, I could see he was tense. What Oliver would do to him if he was caught helping me, I didn't want to think. Although logically, there was no _reason_ for it, for some reason the eerily cheerful Brit ruled over all of the other militaristic, psychopathic nations with an iron fist. If one went by the theory that they were in fact the criminal organizations/syndicates of their symbiotic nation, then hypothetically it should have been Allen or…Vladimir was the name of Russia's 2p, wasn't it? And the Russian Mob was everywhere…so why was Oliver more or less in charge?

_Of course, if I went by the "bleedthrough" theory of mine, then that means the fact that nearly all of the 2p portrayals are written with Oliver in charge of whatever crazed endeavors they attempt would have had an effect on their actions here…_

I shook my head and sped up slightly, catching up with Gillen. _Whatever. Stop thinking about the why and how and focus on the now: you need to get out of here._

A tiny, tiny smirk helplessly twitched at my lips.

_And that rhymes, so you know it's true._

"Hurry up." Gillen rasped tonelessly, starting to walk a bit faster. I shot him an uneasy glance and did as I was told.

 _"Stimmt etwas nicht?_ (Something wrong?)" I asked softly: he shot me a look of surprise, obviously unknowing of the fact I spoke German.

 _"Ja. Hören Sie._ (Yes. Listen.)" he said after a moment, and I blinked, then paled.

We were being followed.

 _"Was machen wir?_ (What do we do?)" I asked nervously as I edged closer to him, and he pursed his lips, the glowing ember at the end of his cigarette leaving streaky imprints against my eyes.

 _"Wir können nicht von ihnen laufen. Wissen Sie über Luxemburg wissen?_ (We can't run from them. Do you know about Luxembourg?)"

_"Nein."_

_"Handeln mürrisch und desinteressiert. Lassen Sie mich das Reden._ (Act sulky and uninterested. Let me do the talking.)" he said casually, as if we were merely having a civil conversation between ourselves. I nodded quietly.

 _"Nehmen Sie nicht aus dem Sweatshirt?_ (Don't take off the hoodie?)"

2p!Prussia gave me a withering glare. _"Offensichtlich._ (Obviously.)" he muttered, and slowly came to a halt and turned as we entered one of the many short-cut alleys. I followed suit, and tried not to press the panic button right then and there.

Allen and Kuro was standing behind us, Kuro standing casually with one hand on his sword handle, and Allen with a cigarette in his mouth as well. Gillen didn't take his out to speak.

_"Kann ich helfen?"_

Allen's eye twitched. "Speak English, you fucking kraut."

Gillen's deadpan expression didn't change. "Can I help you?" he repeated, the glowing end of his cigarette bobbing up and down as he spoke, the epitome of utter uncaring chain-smoking masculinity.

Allen snorted and folded his arms, leaning against one of the alley's brick walls. "Where you going at this time of night?"

Gillen fished in his pocket and pulled out his book of matches, waving it in front of Allen. "Out of smokes. Luxembourg und I thought we'd go together, seeing as she's out too."

Both of the other nation's eyes moved to me, and I tried not to gulp.

 _"Was betrachten Sie?_ (What're you lookin' at?)" I muttered, my voice slightly off-key due to nervousness. I prayed they would chalk that up to smoker's lungs.

Allen's expression darkened, and he pushed away from the wall, unfolding his arms as he stepped forward. "What'd you say, bitch?!" he sneered, and Gillen smoothly cut in front of me.

"Lay off. I don't want to haf to deal vith her vhining und vailing about getting beaten _again."_ he said in his usual monotone way, and Allen replied angrily.

Kuro kept eyeing me as they "talked", which I prayed was merely his inclination to ogle anything with hips, given the whole hentai-drawing thing the fandom pegged him with.

But back to the argument.

"So vhy are _you_ two out? Chasing zat…" Gillen muttered to himself for a few moments as I silently marveled at his acting prowess. "Aryana?" he eventually tried, and Allen's knuckles cracked as they tightened on his bat.

"You're damn right we are. Oliver has everyone out looking, Zao, Vladimir, Luciano, Lutz, _everyone_. Goddammit, when I get my hands on that bitch…"

My knees went weak, and not in a good way, as he went off into another foul-mouthed tirade about all the horrible things he should do to me, should he get within hitting distance…which, unbeknownst to him, he was.

A trickle of sweat ran down my jaw, and I shifted slightly. _"Können wir jetzt gehen?_ (Can we go now?)" I complained shakily, trying to sound as sulky as I could, folding my arms.

Gillen rolled his eye theatrically as Allen broke off swearing to eye me in perplexion.

"What now?" he growled, and Gillen snorted and jabbed a finger at me dismissively.

"You know how Luxembourg gets. She vants to get ze cigarettes _now."_

He drawled the word _"now"_ out, and all the males either smirked or snickered at my expense as I glared at the ground.

I had a shrewd notion that it was impossible for Allen to do _anything_ cordially, but he nodded dismissively to Gillen and shoved past me in a way that could be called "moderately civil". Kuro followed him, and I bit back a squeak of outrage as he _groped_ my ass. Struggling to keep my composure, I settled for a hissed German profanity, and edged closer to Gillen. A dark chuckle floated behind the duo, and then they were gone.

I gave Gillen a deep, wrath-filled glare. "He _groped_ me."

The 2p stared at me for a moment, then shrugged and lit up a new cigarette. "Und your point would be?"

A tick mark throbbed on my forehead as I kicked his shin, and 2p!Prussia let out a surprised curse before glaring at me and pointedly limping away.

"I hate men." I muttered as we exited the alley, and he muttered another German curse on my family's name, rubbing his shin.

Looking up as we continued to walk, I noticed that the stars were faint and dim, just like every other bloody light source in this place. The moon was a watery imitation of its usual glow.

"You sure there aren't any other people here?" I asked suddenly, and he glanced at me, then shrugged again.

 _"Ja."_ 2p!Prussia said shortly, and I frowned.

"What happened to them?" I asked, slightly suspicious. He took the cigarette out and blew a long stream of smoke out into the night sky.

"Dead. Oliver's poisoned cupcakes, Allen's violent nature, ze others und zeir…hobbies…All ze humans who were here are dead now. Haf been for years." he said, not unkindly, putting the cigarette back in his mouth.

"Oh…" I murmured, feeling slightly sick. _This was an entire world…how many people would they have had to kill to completely decimate the human population here?_

As if reading my mind, 2p!Prussia suddenly added "It vas over un very long time…und I don't zink zere were many humans here to begin with. It was always un very small world."

A half-hearted giggle managed to escape me. _"It's a small world after all, it's a small world after all…"_ I sang quietly, and a tick mark appeared on his forehead.

"I vill cover you in steak sauce und throw you to America." he hissed, somehow still managing to sound monotone.

I meekly shut up, my good spirits –such as they were– momentarily restored.

Eventually we came to a familiar-seeming street, and Gillen suddenly jerked me behind one of the houses. "See zat?" he whispered in my ear, pointing along the street.

I squinted, and sure enough, there was a faint glow coming from inside one of the buildings. I looked back at him. "The light?"

He nodded, taking out his cigarette and crushing it, before carefully putting the stub in his pocket to avoid detection. "Zat's Allen und Matt's house. I'll get you in, but from zere on out, you're on your own. Ze sigil ist on ze ground floor, in zier old living room."

I swallowed hard, following behind him nervously as 2p!Prussia slunk between the various unoccupied houses, watching the house with the light in it grow closer and closer. Eventually we both stopped underneath a window in said house, and Gillen looked me dead in the eye. "Zis ist it. Once we jimmy open ze window, you'll be in ze new living room. Zere's un door directly ahead of ze window, go through zere und you'll see ze sigil on ze floor. Spill some blood on it und step on, it'll take you back to ze other's world."

I frowned. _"Where?"_

He shrugged, motioning me impatiently towards the window. "I don't know, und it doesn't matter. You'll be out of here, _ja?_ Now move!"

I straightened up, putting my hands on the windowsill. "Listen, um…" I began, looking back down to 2p!Prussia. "Thanks." I whispered, and he nodded in agitation.

 _"Ja,_ I know! _Move!"_ he hissed, and I shuffled and leaned forward, pecking him on the cheek as he froze.

I straightened up, my face red. "You guys don't really have any girls here, so, you know…best way to say thanks." I stuttered, then quickly shoved the window up.

Gillen caught it just as it would've smacked into the sill, staring me in the eye. "Zat was completely unnecessary." he grumbled, but then tilted his head towards me. _"Danke für die vielen Dank._ (Thanks for the thanks.)" he muttered, and jerked his head at the window. "Now move."

I smiled hurriedly at him and climbed through the window.

As my feet hit the floorboards, I heard a rustle behind me and whipped around. I blinked in surprise as I saw Gillen calmly walking away, and then belatedly remembered that he had said he would be done with me once I made it into the house.

And I was obviously in the house, so there was no reason for him to stick around.

I sucked in a deep breath as I closed the window and turned back towards the interior of the house, listening hard. _There doesn't… **seem** to be anyone down here. Matt's probably upstairs or whatever._ I thought reasonably, starting to creep towards the door, moving around the old furniture items cluttering the room, which were tattered, and had several ominous red-brown stains on them. I listened hard as I reached the door, ear against the wood, and the hairs on the back of my neck rose when I heard someone or something breathing in the next room.

Breathing…slowly.

I gulped and slowly, sneakily, peeked around the door. One of the couches that must've been in here had been dragged into the old living room, and Matt Williams, aka 2p!Canada, was sprawled out on top of it, out cold and snoring softly –and the couch was placed directly on top of the seal I needed to escape.

 _Oh he's **good**._ I thought as my eye twitched irritably, glaring at the unconscious, hockey-stick-wielding figure on the couch. I pursed my lips in vexed contemplation.

 _And speaking of hockey sticks…_ I thought as a malicious little lightbulb appeared above my head, noticing said stick leaning against the edge of the couch, within easy reach of Matt's dangling hand.

Gingerly sliding one foot in front of the other, in case of creaky floorboards, I approached the couch, and, still with elaborate, ultra-slo-mo movements, knelt down, reaching my hand out for the hockey stick agonizingly slowly.

Success!

Equally gingerly, I began pulling it out of Matt's reach, and once I had done so, pushed out of my kneeling position and tiptoed a few feet away, clutching the stick as my breathing sped up a little in relief. _Okay, yes, part one has been completed. I have the hockey stick._ I thought hazily, staring at the unconscious nation and praying he wouldn't wake up.

 _Now all I have to do is hit him with it…very, very hard._ I thought with a strangled giggle, half-paralyzed with fear. I didn't know how long the head-bashing-in lasted with Allen and Luciano, so I had no idea how fast I should move after I knocked him out.

 _Let's just say very, very fast._ I theorized, reaching inside my pocket for a pocketknife Gillen had thrown at me before we had left the meadow. It was still there, and with one last deep breath, I crept closer to Matt.

I raised the stick above my head, mentally fanning out my senses to check if there were any witnesses nearby, of which there were –hopefully!– none.

I slammed the stick down. It hit Matt on the right temple, and his whole body twitched as blood streamed down his face –I gulped as his violet eyes shot open in anger and surprise. Before he had time to do anything else, I slammed the stick down again, harder, and his limbs twitched again, more sporadically.

I kept at it for about five or six more hits, until I could feel his skull starting to give under my blows and he no longer twitched with each blow, and dropped the stick with a clatter. Bile role in my throat at the thought that, had he been a normal human, I most certainly would've killed him, but I was too high on adrenaline and fear to do anything but shove the couch as hard as I could, pushing it off the sigil. With shaking hands, I pulled the pocketknife out of my pocket and flicked open the blade, moving it towards my finger.

I had just stepped on the sigil as the door slammed open, and I flinched and looked up in shock, to see Allen standing in the doorway, his crimson eyes slowly filling with a now-familiar murderous rage. I yelped and hastily stabbed the knife at my hand just as 2p!America snarled in rage and launched himself forward.

My heart stopped, and I watched the events unfold in slow motion as terror made everything happen within a single infinestably long moment.

The door was five of his steps across the room.

 _One step_. Blinding pain sliced across my pointer finger, and I felt the warmth and wetness of my own blood as it welled to the surface.

 _Two steps_. He was going to kill me with his own bare hands, his bat was gone.

 _Three steps_. My blood twinkled in the light of the lamp on one of the side-tables as I watched in mental agony.

 _Four steps_. His hand was reaching for my throat.

_Five steps._

The blood hit the sigil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-Posted: February 5th, 2020, 4.06 PM USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: February 15th, 2015, 3.22 PM USA Central Time


	34. In Which We Squish Things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Arya…she just keeps pissing Allen off, doesn't she? And he just keeps showing up when I want her to encounter one of the 2ps! It's like: (transported to mystical author-space) Alright, she has to get chased by one of the 2ps…hey, what's Allen doing there!? Arya needs to get beaten up…wait a second, why's Allen over there with his bat?! 'S kinda weird, but luckily, she won't have to deal with him for a while, 'cause…well…stuff happens.

_Arya's POV:_

Light enveloped me, shooting from the ground up, and my stomach churned as I felt myself somersault a few times, then land on my feet and stagger away from– a pond. The back of my ankle hit the bank and I fell backwards, landing on my ass and blistering the air with every curse word I knew, some of which included Italian and German.

But at least I was alone.

I cradled my bleeding finger (I think I had cut something important: maybe sliced deeper than I'd intended?) and crawled to my feet, looking around. I had apparently landed in some kind of dark pine forest, though I could see the bright glow of a city somewhere nearby.

I reached into my pocket to call one of my allies, but then remembered Oliver had either stolen or deliberately lost my phone in the pocket of woods near the training track Germany used.

 _Okay, um…a payphone! I'll find a payphone! They still have those, don't they? Shit, I can't believe it if I'll have gotten out of 2pland only to get recaptured because I couldn't find a fucking phone._ I thought as I sweatdropped, fishing in my pockets for change instead.

I found a few coins that weren't too disgusting in my back pocket –although there was some, best left unidentified, gunk on them– and stuck them in my front pocket, starting to trot with urgency down the hill. My hand was still bleeding, and I spared a moment of worry as I wrapped it in the corner of my tank top, which was now rather filthy.

_Did I hit a major artery or something?! It should be slowing down by now…_

I muttered various oaths to myself as I forced my way through the bushes, then stopped as I came out near a roadside, brightening as I saw, a mere fifty or sixty feet away, by the side of a road, an absolutely _serendipitous_ payphone, lit up all warm and comfy-like against the pitchy darkness of the night.

 _By everything freakish and unholy, what major deity did I just appease?_ I thought in wonder, gleefully looking both ways before darting across the road.

I got in the booth and closed the door carefully behind me, turning to look at said payphone.

_Well, it takes Euros, so that means I'm still in Europe…somewhere…_

I quickly pushed in the appropriate numbers for Germany's cell phone, then held the phone to my ear.

 _Now would really not be a good time to find out that his cell phone has some kind of government protection on it and I can't get through with a civilian line…_ I thought with a sweatdrop.

**_Cha-chick._ **

_"Hallo?"_

I ran a hand through my hair, blowing out in relief. _Oh great good god in heaven, thank you._

"Hey Germany, it's me, Arya. Listen, um, this is gonna sound weird, but I have no idea where I am. Does this thing have caller ID?" I asked nervously, leaning against one of the walls as I cradled the phone to my ear.

_And German meltdown in five, four, three, two, one…_

_"ARYA?! WHAT ZE HELL HAPPENED TO YOU!? ROMANO UND ITALY ARE **PANICKING** OVER VERE YOU WENT UND VAT YOU DID, UND YOU ARE ASKING ME WHERE YOU ARE?!"_ he roared into the phone, and I sweatdropped again.

"Dude, I was just kidnapped by the Cupcake King himself, and in case that does not ring a bell, bloody fucking Oliver. My hand is bleeding like crazy and I'm by a deserted road in the middle of the night. _Please_ tell me you _at least_ know which country I'm in." I asked wearily, and there was a moment of silence, and then a heavy sigh. He had probably facepalmed.

_"Alright, alright, we can hear the full story from you later. As for where you are, the caller ID is Romanian. I can have someone trace it more specifically, we'll send someone over. Are you near a residence?"_

I craned my neck, squinting into the darkness. "I don't see anything: I'm like in the woods. There might be a city or whatever nearby though. I see light pollution on the horizon and whatnot."

He grunted, and I heard rustling sounds as he apparently either starting writing something down or moving papers around. _"Do not, und I repeat, **do not** move from zat spot. Are you injured anywhere other than your hand?"_

I looked down at myself. Yes, every inch of visible skin was still covered in bloody gouges, cuts, and bruises.

"2p!America sorta kicked my ass with the pointy end of his baseball bat, but other than that, no." I mumbled, flushing slightly. There was another long silence.

_"…you know, I'm not even going to bother being angry at you. Stay zere, wait for us to pick you up, und if you **have** to move from zat spot, return as fast as you can. Tschüs."_

I nodded, smiling slightly in relief. "See ya later, dude."

I pulled the phone away and hung it up, letting out a huge sigh as all the tension I had been living with the past few hours just drained right out of me.

Which was of course the exact instant Allen caught me in a chokehold.

I gasped in surprise and fear, but his grip on my neck only tightened.

"You were so fucking happy to get away that you forgot that we could use those sigils too, weren't you bitch?" he hissed in my ear as he steadily applied pressure on my windpipe, and I gagged, clawing at his wrist. I couldn't breathe. _I couldn't breathe._ My heart began pounding furiously in my chest, and my clawing at his arm became frantic.

 _I'm gonna die I'm gonna die I'm gonna die I'm gonna die I'm gonna die I'M GONNA DIE I'M GONNA DIE I'M GONNA DIE I'M GONNA DIE **I'M GONNA DIE**!_ My mind shrieked, and I jerked my head back, trying to headbutt him or something, but he merely stepped backward, dragging me off balance, and tightened his grip.

"Nice try." he growled as strangled choking sounds escaped my throat. I could _feel_ the joints in my neck starting to pop as he applied even more pressure. "But you are fucking dying _here_ and _now."_

I could barely see. Spots were dancing in front of my eyes. My limbs weren't moving the way they were supposed to. Mustering every pitiful shred of my remaining strength, I swung my arm back and jammed my elbow into his side. He snarled and slightly loosened his grip on my neck, before grabbing my wrist and twisting it painfully behind my back as I screamed in pain. It fucking _hurt_. Had he just broken my arm?! It sure as hell felt like it…

2p!America used the grip on my arm to force me to bend forward a little, increasing the pressure on my own neck and renewing my scream. I really couldn't see a way out of this one, and I felt tears burn in my eyes as my wounded finger throbbed, blood dripping onto the floor between my legs. My eyes widened slightly.

_No, I couldn't…_

I gagged softly as he sharply tightened his grip.

_But what choice do I have?_

2p!America chuckled darkly in my ear. "Not so tough now, are you bitch? You're going to die in five, four, three…two…"

I could feel him preparing to snap my neck, and grimaced.

_Oh God, this is going to be disgusting._

Rapidly, I twisted my other arm behind myself, groping for his face. 2p!America jerked back in shock as I grabbed him by the forehead, starting a snarled query, and with a mental whimper, I jammed my thumb into his eye socket.

It was wet, warm, and slimy, and I nearly vomited as I felt something burst under my fingertip.

 _One._ I mentally whispered, finishing his count, and 2p!America finally let go of my throat and arm, staggering backwards as he clutched his ruined eye socket. Blood and something else I really did _not_ want to label was dripping off my hand, and my gorge rose as I collapsed to my knees, gasping for air.

Sadly my recovery time was not at premium, and I looked over my shoulder: Allen was swearing and screaming as he held a hand to his left eye, from which bloody matter was dripping down his face. I tasted bile, but I couldn't vomit, not now, not when I had a chance to run.

Staggering to my feet and still taking huge, desperate lungfuls of air, I stumbled around his writhing form and, searching raggedly for the lights of the city, set off at the best run I could manage.

Allen's screaming slowly died out behind me: my assumption that, no matter if you were a badass killer country or not, getting your eye gouged out was an experience you could just walk off, appeared to be correct.

I swallowed hard as my feet pounded against the concrete. _Of course, when he recovers, Germany and the others will probably have to clean me off the road with a sponge and some washcloths._

Headlights behind me.

I slowed slightly, looking over my shoulder, and noticed a familiar red vehicle approaching. I squinted, and it did appear that the _actual_ Italian brothers were behind the wheel…well, Romano was behind the wheel, Italy was in shotgun.

I stopped and waved my hands above my head. "HERE!" I shrieked, and the car slowed as both nations eyed me in something that could be called awe.

"Arya…what the hell happened to-" Romano began, looking as stunned as ever I saw him, but I lunged for the car door, wrenched it open, and dove inside. "Listen, I just fucking ripped out 2p!America's eye, and when he recovers, he's going to be _pissed_. Less talk, more drive!" I shrilled, buckling myself in, and both Italys turned pale.

Romano floored the gas and spun the wheel, sending me against the side of the car. "Right then _krautlet_ , hang on! We're getting the hell out of here!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-Posted: February 5th, 2020, 4.23 PM USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: February 15th, 2015, 9.05 PM USA Central Time


	35. In Which Crack Happens

_Arya's POV:_

You know that feeling you have, when you're driving somewhere and the driver misses a turn, or goes the wrong way, and something in you just instinctively freaks out? Multiply that feeling by a thousand, and you'll get the feeling I got when Romano spun the wheel and gunned the engine.

"WHOA WHOA WHOA WHOA _WAIT, **YOU'RE GOING THE WRONG WAY**!"_ I shrieked, grabbing the edges of my sheet as the car roared back towards the direction I had left the screaming American.

Romano glanced in the rear-view mirror. "Calm down, _krautlet_. He's finally in my line of fire, and you're telling us to drive the other way? I have things to settle with this fucker!" he snarled, looking extremely brave for an Italian, as Italy began rummaging about under his seat. Finally, he pushed a mirror about the size of a laptop computer onto the dashboard, sitting up again with his hair mussed.

"Vee~! It'll be okay Arya!" he chirruped, turning around in his seat to smile at me in that way only he could.

"U-um…Italy…"

The headlights were making the road in front of us highly visible for about fifty feet, and I gulped and swallowed as I saw someone staggering into the light.

 _Roadkill roadkill roadkill **roadkill roadkill roadkill ROADKILL FUCKING ROADKILL**!_ My dazed mind shrieked, although I was unsure of whether or not I was referring to what 2p!America resembled, was about to become, or what would happen to me if it came to a fight between the Italians and the American.

Lit harshly and unforgivingly in the bright light of the car's lamps, 2p!America had somehow reacquired his baseball bat with the nails on it –and the blood, _my_ blood, spattered all over it– and it was dragging along the road behind him. His left eye was shut tightly, and blood leaked down his face, staining the entire left side bright red. His dark glasses were nearly slipping off the end of his nose, and his one remaining eye was filled with overwhelming hatred. His presence beat on ours with a feeling that was nearly palpable in its ferocious intent. I swallowed hard, my panic meter climbing higher and higher the closer Romano drove. I felt like a scared rabbit, ready to bolt.

"ROMANO YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE I WILL NEVER FORGIVE YOU FOR THIS AS LONG AS I LIIIIIIIIVVVVEE!" I screamed in utter terror as 2p!America saw the car and roared in anger, starting to run forward, my skin breaking out in a cold sweat and my knees shaking like castanets.

The car reached him mid-stride, impacting the infuriated nation with a bone-chilling _crunch_ and sending him flying as Romano spat something in Italian and Italy wailed, typically whipping out his white flag and waving it wildly.

"I'M SORRY ABOUT MY BROTHER, HE'S REALLY A NICE GUY, JUST DON'T HURT MEEEE~!" he screamed as Romano grabbed the mirror and kicked the car door open.

Although my whole body was quivering in terror, I physically _could not_ just let Romano, who would probably much prefer tending tomatoes at his home or running away from Spain, handle this psychopath on his own. I stumbled out too, grabbing the knife out of my pocket, and followed him.

When we walked around the car, I nearly threw up again. 2p!America's legs were broken at several angles, bone poking out around his kneecap and hip, but he was still snarling, struggling vainly to come to his feet as his legs quivered, then collapsed every single time. Romano quickly hefted the mirror and ran forward: Allen let out an incoherent howl of rage and lashed out with his baseball bat. Romano dodged to one side and smashed the mirror down on the ex-nation's head: both me and the other America hit the ground, in a dead faint.

What can I say? I was tired.

_***Time Skip***_

**BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP**

_Uggh…what is that infernal noise?_

**BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP**

_Shut it up…shut it up now…_

,strong>BEEP BEEP BEEP B–

**Click.**

I cracked one eye open as the extremely vexing beeping sound shut off with a snap.

"Wshshsh…zzzz…" I heard from behind me, and rolled over painfully, only to find Italy, in all his pathetic/adorable glory, snoring softly beside me with that ridiculous pink tank top he used as pajamas, apparently the one to shut off the alarm.

 _He's equal parts cute and pathetic…what's equal parts cute and pathetic…_ I thought fuzzily as I stared at his sleeping face, still somewhat out of it due to lack of sleep and stress. _Drowned kitten. Italy has a drowned kitten face, because he's huggably cute but sadly pathetic at the same time._ I decided with a vacant smile, then realized I was in bed with a male and rolled off the edge with a squeak.

I hit the floor with a thump and a groan, suddenly reminded of all the places that I hurt as seemingly each and every one made friendly acquaintance with the floorboards. I caught a whiff of antiseptic, and looked down at myself, only to see that I was back in my combat pajamas, and covered with bandages under those. Parts of my skin felt oily, so I assumed that they had put some kind of healing goo on me before putting on the bandages.

Groaning once more, I stood, arching painfully and cracking my back. My stomach growled, as if on cue, and I looked longingly at the window outside, full of birds and sunshine, and began limping over to the bedroom door. It wasn't familiar to me, so I guessed that we were perhaps in Romania's house, or maybe-

 _"NEIN_ , GET OUT OF ZAT CUPBOARD, IT IST NOT FOR YOU!"

…Germany's.

I heard another voice as I hobbled down the stairs, and my chest tightened slightly.

 _O-oh shit…_ I thought with a weak gulp as my whole body froze, but before I could run the door to what I presumed was the kitchen burst open and a very familiar blonde nation ran out, laughing uproariously and then skidding to a halt as he saw me. Brown jacket, eyeglasses, freaky cowlick, and the billion-watt grin, I had to be blind and deaf not to recognize my own country.

His blue eyes lit up with welcome and he spread his arms. "HAHAHA, ARYA RIGHT?! C'MERE AND GIVE YOUR NATION A BIG HUG!" America cried in excitement, launching himself up the stairs towards me. I had perhaps the briefest of seconds to react before I was squashed flat in a hug that made Germany's hugs feel like love taps, and I let out what probably would've been a screech if I had any air in my lungs as I felt bandages and stitches pop under the strain.

**_CLONG!_ **

America wobbled away, his head sporting a big bump and his blue eyes crossed as Hungary put her hands on her hip, using the one holding her much-feared frying pan to scold the other nation. "She's just gotten up from being beaten half to death, and she's only a human, America! For the love of God, be more gentle!" she shrilled, and then smiled at me. "Hello by the way, I'm Hungary. I was the one to dress your wounds." she told me cheerfully, stowing her frying pan somewhere amongst the ruffles on her dress.

I gave her a brief nod, trying to get air into my lungs. "Dun' mention it." I rasped as America stood up again, his lower lip wobbling.

"I was being gentle, wasn't I Arya? I mean, I am the hero after all, and heroes don't hurt their citizens…" he whimpered, giving me the most heart-melting puppy eyes I had ever seen in my entire life.

…Fuck it, he was my home country. I couldn't be mad at him.

" 'S all okay dude." I sighed, giving in, and his little pout instantly turned into his trademark gigantic smile.

"Really?! Aw sweet, that means we can hang out now! You've been around the Europeans too long, how about we go back to the 'States and-"

_**CLONG!** _

_K.O! Hungary Wins, Flawless Victory!_ I thought with a slightly nervous grin as America was floored again, his eyes going swirly and disoriented. (Sound effects and everything: I was impressed.)

Hungary shouldered her frying pan with a sigh. "Honestly, America shouldn't be pushing you to do things so fast." she said as she led me away from my comatose nation, her arm around my shoulders as she pushed open the kitchen door. "The doctors took a look at you and said that there'd be muscle damage everywhere unless one of us healed you, and we did, at least Italy did, they donated some of their health, but they couldn't do much what with it being flu season and all, so you'll be back on your feet and kicking much faster than you were last time, but you're still pretty banged up –now what would you like for breakfast dear?" she chattered rapidly, sitting me at the kitchen counter and standing attentively on the other side.

I blinked twice. "Uh, waffles?" I tried, unsure of what I wanted right at that moment. She beamed at me as she turned to whip up the fluffy confections.

"Coming right up~!"

Clattering sounds and the smell of delicious waffles began wafting through the air, and I saw Germany walk into the kitchen via another door. "Oh, _guten morgen_ Hungary, Arya. What are you doing here?" he asked in surprise, and I sweatdropped.

"I woke up with Italy in my bed, and America nearly crushed me in a hug when I got down the stairs. Today probably isn't my day." I said, sighing as I leaned my chin on my folded arms.

Hungary grew a tick mark at Germany's query. "Poor Arya was stranded in a house of men, and I sure as hell wasn't going to let that pervert Prussia undress her!" she said indignantly, and both me and Germany sweatdropped this time.

"Right, well, speaking of my _Bruder_ , I should probably go find him." Germany said with a sigh, walking out of the kitchen.

Hungary idly flipped a pancake: apparently she was making breakfast for the whole household. "So, how is Prussia?"

I paused. "Well…he's…fine I guess…"

"You guess?"

_Is this is an interrogation? Is she grilling me for flirting opportunities? Is PrusHun not actually canon?_

"Well I'm not exactly acquainted with his usual habits and mood, but he seemed…chipper…enough when we were running around." I said cautiously.

"And what about Romano and his little brother Italy?"

"Also fine enough…"

"Germany?"

"He's pretty cool…"

Hungary held up a finger, sounding smug.

"Aha! That's where it starts!"

"Pardon?"

She whirled to face me, her whole face beaming with excitement. "I said that's where it starts! You _like_ one of them, don't you?!" she squealed, and I turned pink.

"No way in hell! Romano's an asshole half the time, Italy acts like a child, Prussia is _way_ too off-the-chain crazy, and Germany's like a parental figure for me!" I sputtered, and she grinned, her eyes gleaming like a crazed, demented fangirl…which I was beginning to suspect she was.

"Denial!" she shrilled, sounding even more triumphant, and I glowered at her.

"A river in Egypt has nothing to do with this, thank you very much." I growled, and she poked my forehead with her frying pan.

 _What happened to "be gentle, she's a human"?_ I wondered silently to myself as she grinned even wider. "Don't sass me! Now, who is it?!"

"No one! I bloody told you!"

"Aha! It's England!"

"I'VE NEVER EVEN MET HIM!"

"Wales!"

"AGAIN, NEVER MET HIM!"

"Ireland? Ooh, or is it Northern Ireland?!"

"I'VE NEVER MET THEM EITHER!"

"Scotland!"

"I HAVE NEVER MET ANYONE IN THE BRITISH ISLES, YOU CRAZY CRACK SHIPPER!"

"Aha! Japan!"

"NOOOOOOOO!"

Seriously, this was worse than that one episode in _Beautiful World_ where Estonia was set upon by all the fem!Nations.

_Speaking of…_

"Russia!"

"NO! I ONLY SAW HIM LIKE ONCE!"

"China!"

"AGAIN, ONLY SAW HIM ONCE OR TWICE!"

"America!"

"HE JUST NEARLY CRUSHED THE LIFE OUT OF ME!"

_Things are looking up, looking down~_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-Posting: February 5th, 2020, 4.36 PM USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: February 20th, 2015, 5.34 PM USA Central Time


	36. In Which We Draw a Circle, See the Earth

_Arya's POV:_

> `Month 4, Day 5 "Hetalia" Reckoning`
> 
> `(Song) Quote For the Day:`
> 
> `"Tell everybody I'm on my way." –Song`
> 
> `It's been three weeks since Romano K.O-ed 2p America with that mirror, and both 2p!England and Canada have gone to ground. Now the G8 (or G6, as it is right now) assigned one of the more militant countries are assigned to follow me around 24/7, which can be kinda annoying and kinda fun, depending on which country. I usually get Hungary or Sweden, since their 2p changes are fairly obvious and they're fairly good at beating people up, if push comes to shove. Hungary can go "War of Austrian Succession" in a heartbeat (I have bruises to prove it), and Sweden can just…well…Sweden is Sweden.`
> 
> `Not to steal Finland's thunder or anything, but Holy Martin Luther, he's scary!`
> 
> `He's just so quiet and completely deadpan! I bet if there was a murder going on in front of him all he'd do was blink and go "Wer, t'ey'd haf t' die s'time" and then walk away like a boss!`
> 
> `But he's not all that bad, he's less of a pestilence than Hungary can be at any rate. I mean, she's a nice girl, and she means well I'm sure; and yes, it's nice to talk to another girl, BUT EVERY FLIPPING TIME SHE SEES ME SHE TRIES TO CALL ME ON OUT MY NONEXSISTENT CRUSH!`
> 
> `I ask you! Is it so hard to see that I simply don't have one?`
> 
> `(*Side Note: Apparently so, Hungary stole my journal twice yesterday in an attempt to figure it out. Luckily she was only able to skim a few entries, otherwise I'd have been dead meat, trying to explain the concept of "Hetalia" to the countries.)`
> 
> `(People Hungary Has Accused Me of "Crushing" On:`
> 
> `2p!America –I had a conniption.`
> 
> `2p!England –I fainted.`
> 
> `2p!Canada –And I would like him because?`
> 
> `2p!China –I nearly threw up.`
> 
> `2p!Italy –Oh HELL no.`
> 
> `2p!Japan –I met him like what, twice? When he tried to kill me?`
> 
> `2p!Prussia/Gillen –He's a nice guy, but he smokes too much and cares too little about…everything…`
> 
> `America –It feels like I would be dating my father…a very hyper and ADD father…`
> 
> `Austria –Haven't met him yet, and what the hell is attractive about a freeloading aristocrat?`
> 
> `Canada –Who? I haven't met him yet!`
> 
> `China –Too effeminate. Way too effeminate.`
> 
> `England/Anyone Else In the UK –Again, haven't met them yet, so how the hell would I develop a crush on them?!`
> 
> `France –FUCK. NO.`
> 
> `Germany –Again, father figure. Also, too loud.`
> 
> `Italy –He's…no. Just…no.`
> 
> `Japan –He stares into space like a deactivated robot 99.9% of the time. Fuck no.`
> 
> `Prussia –Ah…yeah…no. I'm 50% sure she's gunning for him.`
> 
> `Romano –Too much of a wuss and an asshole alternatively.`
> 
> `Russia –Belarus would slaughter me, America would have a conniption, I would have a heart attack after a few months of close contact…you get the idea.`
> 
> `Spain –Hadn't met him at the time she accused me…so yeah.`
> 
> `And Pretty Every Other Male Country)`
> 
> `But aside from that, things have actually been going pretty damn well. I've finally gotten back to my tip-top form, and Germany is training me worse than ever, the jerk. On the plus side, Prussia has also been inducting me into the art of swordplay, although at this point I can hardly lift the fricking monolith he SAYS I should be able to use. The sword weighs like a ton!`
> 
> `(Prussia says I'm wrong and it's only about four pounds, but you try swinging around four pounds of solid steel like they do in the movies and see where it gets you!)`
> 
> `So since I can barely lift the sword, Germany and Prussia have been teaming up to strengthen my arms, and Prussia's been going through the basic maneuvers with a wooden practice sword. I messed up a lot at first, and when I do it Prussia laughs at me and says I look completely hopeless and that I should just chuck the sword at my enemies and hope it brains them or something. I usually kick him in the shins at that point and then he chases me around Germany's house wielding his actual Teutonic Knights sword and threatening to chop me to pieces, which is pretty fricking scary. Japan says I should stop provoking him, to which I retort that HE should stop provoking ME.`
> 
> `I realize that as I look back over my entries, spend most of my time with the Axis. Romano's still teaching me Italian (Ciao, piacere di conoscerti.) and Italy's actually been trying to get me to paint with him. I've done a few slapdash scribbles of anime characters at home, but it's clear after a few sessions with Michelangelo over there that art isn't really my field.`
> 
> `Me and Japan don't really hang out all that much, but when he comes along with the other Axis we sometimes talk about anime together. Germany and Prussia I wrote down already.`
> 
> `I haven't really seen China since the whole issue with the 2p!s, but Russia came by a few weeks ago and dragged me off to his house in the middle of the night, which was kinda freaky. He showed me the Baltic Trio (Latvia seemed fairly pleased to meet me, but the other two were trembling too hard for any proper introduction.) and we briefly talked about the Russia vs America stereotypes that no longer exist (we were hitting it off fairly well too, he seemed to be enjoying himself), and he gave me a weird Russian drink that I am fairly certain contained vodka. We both got mildly buzzed and he asked afterwards if we could play Russian Roulette, but luckily (or unluckily, as the case may be), Germany and Prussia burst in and dragged me home before we could play. Belarus heckled us a bit when we crossed the Russian border, but other than that, it was a fairly simple trip back.`
> 
> `Germany nearly bust my eardrums shouting about the dangers of drinking, Russians, and guns, but on the whole I think Russia's still a fairly cool dude, no pun intended.`
> 
> `A few days after I got all healed up, I hit upon the brilliant idea of asking America to teach me how to fight with my bare hands, remembering the whole scene with the Pictonians on the deserted island. I think he broke my nose about five times before Romano found us and dragged me back home, shrieking various Italian curse words all the way as America ran after us, laughing his good-natured, completely oblivious laugh and cheerily apologizing for breaking my face.`
> 
> `Canada and America playing baseball, anyone?`
> 
> `I also met France when Romano was teaching me how to curse in Italian (which I had picked up fairly fast…he cursed a lot…), and he's actually not that bad. Flirty, yes. A liiiiittle bit grabby, yes. But he's not a bad guy, he seems to be pretty decent. Also a bit prone to stripping in public, but hey, he seems more like he's messing with people than actually attempting anything sexual.`
> 
> `I dunno, maybe it's the fact he's one-fourth my ancestor/familial figure/homeland that I can't hate him, same as with America.`
> 
> `Speaking of Romano's old "friends" and his attempts to teach me Italian, yesterday after he dragged me into the middle of nowhere, we met Spain, who just happened to have a tomato orchard near Romano's "training grounds". Somehow or another, we got dragged over to help with the summer harvest, something Romano was less than happy about and I was more or less indifferent to.`
> 
> `Don't get me wrong here people: I. Love. Tomatoes.`
> 
> `I've loved them long before I knew of Hetalia, long before I knew of anime, even. My family, what with living on a farm, decided to grow most of our produce, and bada-bing bada-boom, we had a fruit and vegetable garden by the time I was six. My mom and dad joked about me being a tomato vampire, since I bit down and sucked all of the juices out of my tomatoes instead of eating them in the normal fashion.`
> 
> `But when one thought of eating yummy red fruit (yes it's a fruit), one does not think of bending over under a hot sun with no sunscreen and no hat and picking tomato after tomato without being allowed to eat a single one. My country bodyguard for the day, Prussia, dozed off under the shade of the porch as me and Romano slaved away in Spain's fields.`
> 
> `Now I know why Romano called him a bastard.`
> 
> `Something's been bugging me lately, which I confessed to Romano and Prussia when we were driving back home. Norway has shown up a few times over the past week, stared at me for a little while, and then wandered off, muttering in Norse. I wondered if it was something to do with magic and asked Romania, who cocked his head, blinked at me a few times, and then smiled and said it was nothing to worry about, I just had a rather large cloud of magic about me.`
> 
> `Ehe…yeah…and what isn't worrying about that?`
> 
> `"It's like residue for the world-transversal spell, except it should've worn off by now, unless it's been used more than once or twice." `
> 
> `His exact words.`
> 
> `May I refer to my first entry in this journal? `
> 
> `I. AM. FUCKED.`

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-Posted: February 5th, 2020, 4.48 PM USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: February 24th, 2015, 8.26 PM USA Central Time


	37. In Which We Have a Family Situation

_Arya's POV:_

I whimpered and rubbed my stinging wrist.

"Kesese~! C'mon fraulien, get back over here!" Prussia crowed, waving his wooden practice sword in circles above his head.

I pointed the hand that wasn't bruised and battered beyond all recognition at him vehemently. "Hell no! You're going to cut my hand off! Hell, its halfway of already!"

He sweatdropped, as did Hungary and Austria, who were watching.

"You do know it is a _wooden_ sword, _ja?"_ Austria asked, taking a sip of his tea.

A gloom cloud hovered over me, still pointing at Prussia. "For that freak of nature, it doesn't seem to matter." I muttered, and Prussia dropped his sword and advanced upon me, rolling up his sleeves.

"No! Nononononono! I don't wanna!" I screeched as he grabbed me and began to pull, both hands on my ankle.

"Kesese~! You are going to hit me, _fraulien_ , like it or not! Get over here!" he cackled, and a rather comical tug of war ensued between me and the nation.

"NOOOOOO! Let me go! I wanna go back to Roomsky Kornerkov!" I shrieked, my nails gouging furrows in the ground as Prussia steadily walked backwards.

 _"Nein!_ Get over here, und stop naming parts of the room!"

 _"NEIN! IE! NO!_ NO! BACK YOU ALBINO MEANACE TO SOCIETY! BACK!"

_***Time Skip***_

"…"

_Poke. Poke poke._

"You know West, I think I broke her."

"Vell, you did go all-out in training, didn't you? Look at her hand."

"…"

_Poke poke poke poke._

_"Scheiße_ , not you too! It vas just a few taps!"

"Her hand is _black_ and _blue."_

_Poke poke-_

"…r…s…"

Prussia stopped poking me with a gasp. "Eh?"

"You…are…an… _asshole_ …" I whispered venomously, and he broke out into his usual wild laughter.

"Kesese~! See, she's fine, West!" he called over his shoulder. I saw Germany facepalm from behind the counter.

A deep gloom cloud lay over me as I curled up in the corner of Germany's kitchen. "Go on, eat lunch without me. I'm just going to sit in a corner and loathe humanity." I deadpanned, and both Germanic nations sweatdropped.

"Maybe it's her time of the month?" Prussia hazarded as he stroked his chin, and I cocked my head in expectation. Sure enough, about two seconds after that particular statement, there was a loud **_CLONG_** , and Prussia was laid out flat on the linoleum, a large bump on his head and swirls going around in his eyes.

 _Hungary Wins Again! Flawless Victory!_ I thought as another sweatdrop appeared over my own head. _She has better aim with those things than Batman does with his gadgets._

Germany scooped up the frying pan and left the kitchen. "Hungary, I know my _Bruder's_ a bit of un idiot, but please stop throwing zese around." he said, his voice muffled by the walls, before he came back, without the frying pan and his brawny arms folded.

"Arya, I'm not good vith talking about zings, but is something wrong? Something to do with your family?" he asked awkwardly, and I sighed, my shoulders slumping.

"No…"

He rubbed the back of his neck. "Um…so…vat is it?" he mumbled, shifting from foot to foot, and I sighed again, resting my forehead on my folded arms.

"The whole thing with the 2p!s, man…" I mumbled, and he frowned.

"Vat about zem?" he asked worriedly, and my shoulders slumped even more.

"Dude, I can barely keep up with Prussia, I have no idea how to wield the titchy little pocket knife I keep waving around, I don't know any magic, I have no idea on how to wield a gun-"

He sighed and put a hand on his forehead. "So basically, you're saying you're insecure because you have no idea how to fight the 2p!s in an actual, one-on-one fight with no chance of you running away?"

I nodded, scrunching up further into my self-hating little ball. Germany knelt and placed a hand on my shoulder. "Aryana, the chances of that happening are very, very slim at this point. You're resourceful, you're clever, und you're good at making allies, so even if they drag you over to their world, you can still probably get away. Just because you aren't a trained fighter doesn't make you helpless." he pointed out, and I sucked in a deep breath.

"Yeah…I guess you're right, _Deutschland."_ I said with a slight smile, and I yelped as Prussia suddenly scooped me up under the armpits and dragged me towards the dining room.

"Damn straight! Now get over here, Austria's gonna claim _mein_ seat at the table!"

"YOU DON'T HAVE A SEAT ANYMORE, YOU DISGRACE OF UN EX-NATION!"

"Stuff it up your ass, Austria! I'll seize your vital regions agai-"

**_CLONG!_ **

_K.O! Finish Him!_

_Romano's POV:_

_Peace…peace is good…_ I thought with a contented sigh, stretching my limbs out as I swung gently in the hammock fastened on the back porch of my villa. I squinted one eye open to check my watch, then relaxed again. It would be time to pick up the _krautlet_ in an hour, but until then, _siesta_ time.

I didn't have to run around facing off the psychopathic incarnations of my own kin, nor take care of an American citizen who was also half of _that-annoying-potato-bastard-who-must-die-a-painful-and-slow-death_ , nor worry about when _I_ would be replaced or attacked by said psychopathic nations. Life was good.

I let out another contented sigh, the ever-present scowl that was plastered on my face relaxing slightly as I snuggled into the hammock, making it swing slightly. Life was progressing nicely: Aryana had a basic understanding of _Italiano_ , not as much as her understanding of German, but hey, that would hopefully soon be fixed.

I lazily reached down and picked up a delicious red tomato, lifting it up to my mouth and taking a hearty bite.

 _Buono tomato buono tomato buono tomato oo!_ I thought happily, squirming about in joy as I devoured the succulent red fruit.

I sighed again and stretched as I finished, putting my hands behind my head and crossing my legs lazily, fully prepared to loaf the rest of the day away until I could rescue my 1/4th citizen from the heinous grips of the potato bastard and his family.

The sun was warm, and there was just enough of a breeze that the heat was pleasant rather than stifling, and the hammock was comfortable, so it wasn't too long before I drifted off into a light doze, rocking gently on the breeze.

Footsteps made me peek one eye open, but I scowled and closed it again when I saw Veneziano walking by, carrying a similar basket of tomatoes and whistling cheerily.

 _Little idiot, doesn't he know it's too hot out to do work?_ I thought irritably, sighing through my nose as I readjusted myself slightly in the hammock, the tension draining back out of my body. The door opened and closed, and I let my scowl slip back into my more neutral expression, shifting again to gain a more comfortable position.

A shadow fell over me, and I felt something hard against my throat as I squinted my eyes open in irritation. "What the hell are you doing Veneziano?!" I spat, and he smiled slightly. Then my sleep-fogged vision realigned, and I froze as I stared into the wrong eyes.

 _"Ciao, mio fratello."_ Luciano purred, waggling a knife between the fingers of his free hand. It was only then that I realized what was against my own throat, and swallowed hard, feeling the cold metal prick at my skin.

 _"C-ciao…"_ I mumbled around a plastic smile, a drop of sweat sliding down my chin. "And now, if you don't mind, _arrivederci!"_ With lightning-fast reflexes, I lashed my foot out and caught him square in the chest, sending my brother's murderous double back a few feet as my own landed on the Italian turf. Without another word in parting, I ran, dodging around tomato vines and farming implements.

I felt a slice of pain as he threw a knife at my heart, hitting it, and my knees buckled momentarily, but then I was yanking it out of my chest and streaking off again at a dead run. They couldn't kill me, and I was more than reasonably certain they wouldn't dare try, but that didn't mean they couldn't do some God-awful damage in the meantime.

 _"Bastardi, cazzo!"_ I spat, feeling my newly-repaired heart pound in my chest as he ran after me. Though it was a close race between two Italian cowards –the bastard had my brother's body, still– I was the faster, perhaps because I was more used to running in my own body, while Luciano had to work with someone else's. My heart leapt as I pulled farther and farther away, dust fading behind me as I flashed along the old road leading to my villa. At this rate, I could totally-

 ** _THUD_**.

 _"Dannazione, scendere la strada!"_ I swore as I bounced backward, landing on my ass. I looked back up at my soon-to-be-roadkill obstructer, about to swear some more about standing in the middle of the fucking road, and froze for the second time. Fuchsia eyes gleamed at me with all the loving friendliness of a hawk about to pounce on a mouse, and the potato bastard _Germany's_ double grinned down at me from his gargantuan height, his brawny arms folded across his chest.

 _"Hallo, Italien._ Going somewhere?" he chuckled deeply.

I gulped and began to scoot backwards. Was I outnumbered?

Something sharp and cold stabbed into the ground on my right, and I gave a yelp and jerked away. Blood-red eyes stared down at me without a trace of emotion, and 2p!Japan jerked his sword from the ground and laid it across his shoulders, watching me for the slightest sign of movement.

I gulped again. I was _way_ outnumbered.

"L-listen, I don't know why you guys are after _me_ , but I-" I began shakily, then snapped my mouth shut as Lutz pulled out a gun and aimed it at my skull.

"We'll talk later, _Italien_ , but right now the rest of us have places to be." he said with an ominous grin, and my eyes widened, my fingers gripping the nice, warm, Italian dirt beneath my like claws. I felt tears well up in my eyes as he stepped forward, bringing the cold muzzle of the gun in contact with my forehead.

_Goddammit, why am I always put in these kinds of situations?! First that jackass Spain, and then the **real** potato bastard in **both** world wars, and now fucking this!_

He thumbed the trigger, and I gulped once last time.

_"M-mi dispiace–"_

**BANG.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-Posted: February 5th, 2020, 4.59 PM USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: March 1st, 2015, 11.56 AM USA Central Time


	38. In Which We Question Our Values

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the by, Romano is not dead. I'm going by the headcannon that only the dissolving of their country and/or insanely large amounts of extremely powerful magic would be enough to actually kill a country personification.

_Arya's POV:_

Strained silence reigned around the dinner table.

_Clink. Clink clink._

…still silent…

_Clink clink clink clink._

…any second now…

_Clink clink-_

_Boooing~!_

Austria slammed his tea cup down so hard that it cracked.

 _"VERDAMNT_ PRUSSIA, STOP FLICKING PEAS AT ME!"

The platinum blonde beside me laughed uproariously. "Kesese~! What's wrong Austria, lose Silesia aga-"

**_CLONG!_ **

Germany grew a tick mark as Prussia flew backwards onto the ground. "Hungary, vat did I say about throwing those in ze house?" he said sternly, picking up the frying pan and passing it to her as she tucked it back inside her dress.

Hungary pouted and folded her arms when he continued to scold, as I felt a tugging at my sleeve and looked down, seeing Prussia dramatically sprawled across the floor.

"Hey, Arya, I'm down, you get him!" he said excitedly, and I looked out of the corner of my eye at the only other female at the table.

"Prussia, I am not taking chances with her frying pan."

He looked comically distraught. "Vat kind of ally are you?!" he cried in despair, and I sweatdropped.

"I'm not."

Prussia let go of my sleeve with a shriek of anguish and clutched his heart, falling to the ground again as the other nations all sweatdropped, myself included.

 _"MEIN_ HEART! YOU CRUEL, CRUEL _FRAULEIN!"_

Prussia soon clambered back up onto his chair, and I was once more viewing the Germanic nations with the air of an awed spectator.

Something occurred to me, and I nudged Germany, as Prussia and Hungary were in a hot debate over…something.

"Hey, where is Switzerland and Lichtenstein?" I murmured, and he took a sip of what was most likely beer from his mug.

"Neutral, remember? Zey never come over for family dinners."

I raised an eyebrow. "So you guys don't normally eat like this?"

Prussia, overhearing our conversation, snorted and slammed his mug down on the table. "Kesese~! Of course not! Can you imagine this stuck-up aristocrat coming out from his palace-"

Deciding that I had learned enough, and that Prussia risked a serious concussion if he kept talking, I put him in a headlock and covered his mouth. Sure, he broke free within a few seconds, but at least it shut him up for said seconds.

Suddenly, midway through another exclamation, Prussia stopped midsentence. This was so unexpected and strange that Hungary choked on her drink and Austria's glasses cracked as Germany and myself sent the former nation incredulous looks.

Prussia cocked his head to the side, his crimson eyes narrowing in concentration. "Do you hear that?" he asked suspiciously, and the atmosphere abruptly relaxed.

"If you wanted to freak us out, you could've at least been more original zan _zat."_ Austria said witheringly, and Prussia made violent hushing motions.

"I'm serious, _verdammt!_ Shhh!"

Hungary, Germany, and myself all put our silverware down, and listened hard.

_"-aaaaaaaaaaaa-"_

Germany abruptly facepalmed. _"Italy."_ he sighed, as if the world had just fallen upon his shoulders, and I patted his back sympathetically.

Prussia held up a hand. "Hang on a second West, I think he's looking for a different nursemaid this time."

We all stared at him.

"Eh?!" I squeaked, and Austria tilted his head.

"Now zat you mention it, it does sound like too many vowels to be Germany."

They all looked at me, and I gulped as Hungary's eyes began to gleam.

"Listen you…you _shipper_ , that is not what it sounds like-" I began, pointing at her, but suddenly we all heard the front door burst open as footsteps thundered through the house.

_"AAAAAAARRRRRYYYYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"_

The door burst open as I lunged out of my seat, holding my arms out in defense.

"Wait Italy, don't-"

Too late, he launched himself towards me in a tackle hug.

"ARYA ARYA ARYA 'MANO'S GONE AND ITS ALL MY FAULT I'M SO SOOOOORRRRRRRRRRYYYYYYYY!" he wailed, tears pouring down his face in distraught anime fashion, and I blinked twice.

"Wait _what?!"_ I squeaked, and he began to shake me, crying harder.

"The door opened and the person said it was a pasta delivery, but it _wasn't_ a pasta delivery and then they threw an icky power in my face and I went to wash it off but then there was a scary man in the mirror and then I ran outside to get big brother but then I got dizzy AND WHEN I WOKE UP BIG BROTHER WASN'T THERE ANYMOOOOOORRRREEEEE!" he sobbed, and I looked up at Germany.

"You speak idiot, _please_ tell me what he said wasn't what I think he said."

Germany got up from the table too, tugging his jacket collar straight as if preparing for battle. "It's what he said, Aryana. Romano's gone missing, und judging from your reports about ze possession technique ze Second Players use, he's also been captured."

Prussia and I instantly got to our feet as I helped Italy stand.

"Ze have taken one of our allies! Zis means war!" Prussia snarled as he scooped up his sword, and I gave the still-sniffling Italy a handkerchief as he blew his nose noisily and continued to cry.

"You do realize war is all but declared already?" I deadpanned, and he folded his arms like a sulky child.

"Vell, now it ist most _definitely_ and officially declared by ze awesome me." he muttered, and I sweatdropped.

Germany cupped his chin. "If zey haven't killed him, which zey almost certainly haven't, he's going to be kept hostage. Und no good opponent vould take un hostage vithout informing zeir allies…so…"

Prussia scratched his cheek as myself and Italy remained silent, allowing the two older and more war-experienced countries plot. "So West, you're saying ve'll get demands s-"

_Knock knock knock knock knock._

Prussia grinned as Germany and I sweatdropped.

"Called it!" the former nation mouthed at me as Germany squared his shoulders and marched to the front door, rolling up his sleeves. I picked up a plate mirror (which were now scattered about practically every country's house, safely covered) and followed, tiptoeing along behind him.

Germany opened the door, and I gulped and ducked behind him as I saw a shock of strawberry blonde hair.

_Shit shit shit shit shit shit._

"Ooh~? Hello there poppet, come on out _here_ with me~."

I yelped as my wrist was seized in an iron grip and I was hauled out from behind Germany at the word _"here"_ , coming face to face with Oliver. He was grinning manically, and suddenly Germany's hands clamped down on my shoulders, pulling me back against his chest.

"I would like for you to keep your hands off my citizen und guest, _Kirkland."_ he said icily, and Oliver smiled blandly.

"Oh, you're no fun."

I rubbed my wrist and glowered at the grinning underground. "You're here about Romano, aren't you?" I snapped, and he giggled, biting his lower lip in some kind of facial tic.

"Oh, him? Funny you should ask…"

Suddenly I remembered what I had in my hands, and raised the mirror angrily. "Listen you little bastard, I have a mirror, and I will fucking use it!" I snapped, and his sky blue eyes darkened slightly, magenta tinging the edges.

" _ **Don't swear, young lady**._" he hissed viciously, still grinning, and I shivered all over, backing up against Germany, who squeezed my shoulder comfortingly.

Suddenly two hands landed on each of Oliver's shoulders, and he blinked, looking from side to side as Prussia grinned at him and Hungary fingered the hilt of her frying pan. Germany politely stepped in front of me.

"We have you outnumbered, Kirkland. Tell us whatever you have to tell und get out, before we destroy you." he snarled, and Oliver grinned menacingly, pulling something out from his pocket. It was a flat metal disk with some kind of inscription on the front–

I squeaked and lunged backward, and Germany pulled out his gun as Prussia unsheathed his sword and Hungary swung her frying pan back.

"Oh _relax~!"_ Oliver chirped, making a few motions over the disk with his forefinger, which I took to be some kind of magic.

A ray of light sprung up, then flattened into a circle, kinda like a magic mirror, and an image formed in the disk of light. Romano was staring at the "screen", his mouth bloodied and his lip split, his white shirt, more meant for lazy days than any strenuous activities, torn over his shoulder, where more blood showed. There was a bruise over that same shoulder, showing through the torn gap in his shirt, and strangely enough, a dried streak of blood coming from the center of his forehead, where there was no wound.

 _Maybe he was like shot?_ I thought worriedly as he sneered at the camera or whatever was recording him, and Italy whimpered from behind me.

Oliver closed his fist around the disk, and smiled at all of us. "Be a terrible shame if anything else happened to him, no?" he purred, and Germany's teeth cracked and squeaked as he gritted them together.

"What. Do. You. Want?" he growled, and Oliver giggled like a schoolgirl, swaying to one side.

"Ooh, I don't know, maybe a certain little annoying-bratty-poppet-who-ruined-all-of-my-hard-work-and-plans?" he said rapidly, and his magenta and blue eyes gleamed at me as his dangerous grin turned feral. "That'd be _you_ , Aryana."

Germany groped behind him and grabbed my wrist, as if to assure himself Oliver hadn't spirited me away somehow. _"Nein._ No. Whichever you understand, it doesn't matter."

Oliver pouted in a way that would've fit a six-year old more than a god-knows-how-old British psychopath who also probably happened to be a cannibal. "But I neeeeed her…" he whined, his lower lip trembling.

Hungary looked at him suspiciously. "For what?" she asked warily, and he beamed.

"That's a secret~! But it does involve lots of knives, ooh, and some arsenic, you can _never_ have too much arsenic, and, um…"

I sweatdropped. "You want to kill me, isn't that it?"

Oliver clapped his hands over his mouth, his eyes sparkling. "Poppet! You can't go spoiling secrets like that!" he giggled, and Germany's grip tightened on my wrist as Italy squeaked and latched onto my waist.

"No way in hell." Germany snapped roughly, and jerked his head at Prussia. _"Preußen_ , get him."

Oliver held up a hand, his grin turning darker. "Oh, I wouldn't. Remember, this _is_ the body of someone else."

Prussia snatched the mirror from me. "Vell, zere's a reason for zis." he retorted, and Oliver shrugged candidly, his smile not altering at all.

"Be that as it may, you do have to consider the… _larger_ implications."

Hungary furrowed her brow as Germany shifted uneasily, and Prussia narrowed his eyes.

"Larger implications?" he repeated warily, and Oliver smirked at me lazily.

"Consider this, poppets. Is one human worth the existence of an entire nation? Is Aryana Thompson worth the entire nation of South Italy?"

Hungary's eyes widened as Prussia sucked in a shallow breath, and the underground giggled happily once more. "If not, then meet me at England's house." he said, then blew a kiss at me. "I'll be seeing you soon poppet." he cooed, and suddenly there was a soundless blast of light and he was gone.

I stared at the blackened ground where he had been standing, and once more contemplated how fucked up my life actually was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-Posted: February 5th, 2020, 5.50 PM USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: March 1st, 2015, 9.05 PM USA Central Time


	39. In Which We Take a Vote

Arya's POV: 

"NOOOOOOOO! I DON'T WANT YOU TO GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Italy wailed, clinging to my waist as I awkwardly staggered into the kitchen.

Germany was on the phone, ranting and raving in German, and I could hear someone who sounded faintly like Switzerland shouting back. Hungary was busily packing up my things, and Prussia was guarding the house from any _other_ interruptions.

Italy continued whining, wailing, and sobbing into the back of my shirt as he hung onto me like a demented belt, and I eventually managed to drag myself over to the counter and sit down, as Italy then hopped up on another stool and squeezed me tightly, continuing to sob and wail about how dangerous it was for me to go and how much he would miss me and all the pasta he would give me if I stayed.

Hungary came into the kitchen, dragging my apocalypse bag behind her. "Italy, we aren't going to give her away." she said firmly, giving me my bag. "That being said, we also cannot just abandon your brother."

She rubbed his head as he continued to sob. "It's going to be okay, everything will turn out alright." she soothed, and he hugged me tighter as I felt the circulation in my lower body cut off, burying his sobs in Hungary's dress.

Germany finally concluded his shouting match and hung up the phone with a _"clunk"_ , turning to face us. "Actually, Aryana, we may have to do just zat. Zis is a rather delicate situation." he said wearily, rubbing his temples. "We cannot in good conscience give you to ze 2p!s, but we also cannot allow a nation personification to remain in zeir hands."

Hungary straightened indignantly. "We can't just hand her over with a pat on the back and a wave goodbye!" she shrilled, jabbing her frying pan at me as Italy whimpered and cowered away from the instrument of doom. "They'll butcher her! And if anything she's told us about that Oliver is true, that might even be _literal!"_

I gulped as Italy wailed and clung to me harder. Getting made into cupcakes was not part of my game plan.

Germany glowered at the three of us. "I know zat as well as you do, but zis is a decision we can't just make on our own! I've called un World Meeting." He gave me a sympathetic glance. "It'll be in Switzerland, all ze countries will be zere. We'll decide whether or not to make ze deal together."

_***Time Skip***_

In practically any other circumstances, I would have been fangirling so hard I wouldn't have been able to see see straight. I was in _Hetalia_. I was in a meeting that had every _Hetalia_ character that ever graced the pages of a comic strip in it, minus England, Canada, and Romano. (Although I was fairly certain nobody noticed the second nation was missing.) They were all together, and they were all talking about ME.

It was…scary.

Of course, under any "normal" _Hetalia_ circumstances they would've been goofing off, but like so much that had happened recently, it wasn't normal _Hetalia_ circumstances. Every country was either quietly whispering to his or her neighbor, casting glances of various intents and suspicions at me out of the corner of their eyes, or drinking something out of the dumb little paper cups people always got for these meetings. Germany had stood up at the beginning of the meeting and laid everything out, and then asked for his compatriots feelings, opinions, and ideas about the deal.

Predictably, America was the first to speak. "Listen up, dudes! We can't just let these lameo copycats take one of our citizens: I say no deal! What can they do to hurt South Italy?!" he said pointedly, standing up to speak as per Germany's rules.

Norway stood up as well. "They have several people who can work powerful magic. They could do a lot of damage to Romano, maybe even destroy him. I don't like it any more than you do, but for a nation of people versus one person, I say deal." he said firmly, and Estonia stood up.

"This might be a large bluff on their part: after all, we don't really know the extent of this "Oliver's" magical powers. Miss Thompson has thwarted their plans quite thoroughly: it would be a bad idea to trade away such an important asset, not to mention unethical." he pointed out, and a few countries "hmmed" thoughtfully.

China stood up. "Unethical or not -and I'm sorry about this, aru-" he said to me in aside. "-a country is more important than a human. If they kill South Italy, it will cripple his economy, his people, even his geography, aru. Can we try to negotiate for a different bargain?" he asked Germany placatingly, and Prussia jumped to his feet.

"Nein! Ze 2p!s are out for her blood, und zey will not take anyone else's! I agree with you on ze idea of altering it, but do any of you _honestly_ think zey will honor zeir bargain?"

There was another soft bout of mutterings from the other countries.

Russia stood up now as Estonia and Latvia began to tremble. Lithuania was too busy whispering to Poland to notice.

"I agree with the little Germany." he said with his usual creepy, childlike smile. "These 2p!s are not people to honor the bargain. How about we come along with the small human and make sure they be keeping their word, _da?"_

His purple eyes gleamed at me as he spoke, and I smiled back uncertainly. Russia was creepy: nice, but…so creepy.

The arctic nation tapped his water pipe against his palm. "And we can do the persuading with my pipe, if they do not." he added cheerfully, and Estonia and Latvia began to shake so hard their chairs rattled.

Germany stood up, coughing into his fist. "I agree vith Russia on zis. Ze Second Player nations probably don't intend on going through vith ze deal, so in all likelihood they're planning to double-cross us. In summation, South Italy cannot remain in zeir hands, but we cannot trade Frau Thompson in, as she ist un very valuable asset to us, und zey almost certainly plan to kill her. It ist probably best we take zis to un vote. Who votes deal, vith the addition of some kind of safeguard for Aryana?"

Three-quarters of the nations raised their hands, including China, Norway, Russia, Denmark, France, and Cuba.

Germany sighed resignedly. "Und who votes no deal?"

Estonia, Prussia, Italy, and surprisingly, Japan, all raised their hands instantly.

Germany's shifting about became agitated. "Vell, it seems our choice ist clear." he said as a dull roar filled my ears, shuffling the papers in front of him as Italy wailed and latched onto my waist again. Germany cleared his throat and looked away from me when he did.

I started to tremble. Surely I had misheard. Surely there was some other course to take.

"Aryana…I'm afraid we'll have to make ze deal."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-Posted: February 5th, 2020, 5.57 PM USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: March 4th, 2015, 9.19 PM USA Central Time


	40. In Which Arya Falls Down The Rabbit Hole

_3rd Person POV:_

The nations watched intently as Aryana, led by Prussia, slunk up the drive to England's home. The former nation was paler than usual, his jaw set and his crimson eyes gleaming, and the young human was clearly shaky, her honey-brown eyes flickering and nervous and her shoulders hunched, as if expecting a blow.

China leaned back with a sigh. "I do not like this, aru." he complained, wiping his brow with one of his oversized, trailing sleeves. "It is too risky and open."

Germany glowered at him. "We planned this out, und you voted to give her up." he pointed out testily, and China nodded, biting his lower lip.

"It just makes me nervous, not being there to help her to help her out, aru." he complained, frowning pensively at the screen.

Beside him, Russia, who was sitting tense and ready as a hawk sighting on its prey, turned to face the other country. "The little _devushka_ drank vodka and played with me." he said gently, his childlike face creasing in a friendly smile, which suddenly darkened. "Mother Russia will not let her come to harm."

Norway and Romania glanced to the side, where America's own eyes were glued to his citizen, but he merely muttered something along the lines of "overprotective Commie bastard" and kept quiet.

All six nations were huddled inside a worker's van with one wall covered in video screens, all of which detailed the ex-nation and human walking up the wooded slope. They needed to time this _exactly_ right, or there would be problems, not least of which that Aryana and possibly Romano would be dead. The only reason they all weren't going out there _with_ Arya and the ex-nation was because too many of them would alert the 2p!s.

And speaking of…

Prussia and Arya stopped in front of the door to England's house, both the nation and human pale as bone china. Aryana awkwardly fumbled for the nation's hand, and he gripped it tightly.

 _"It's going to be okay, fraulien."_ he said firmly, and she nodded queasily, looking sick.

 _"I-if you say so dude."_ she stuttered, and he gave her a brief shadow of his usual grin.

_"Don't worry. I'm ze awesome Prussia."_

_Arya's POV:_

I felt a gradual, sick churning in my gut, one that I was intensely familiar with. The undergrounds, the 2p!s, were nearby. And there were a _lot_ of them.

Prussia glanced at me as I gripped his hand like the terrified kid I was, and a flicker of a smirk dashed across his face.

"Don't worry. I'm ze awesome Prussia." he said reassuringly, and I let out a terrified chuckle.

 _Yeah, you are._ I thought giddily. _It's me I'm worried about._

Prussia reached for the handle, twisting it, turning it, and opening it slowly. The hallway was dark, and I fumbled on the wall for a switch as I felt him doing the same.

**_Click._ **

**__**

As soon as the light clicked on, I knew two things. One, the likelihood of me leaving this house in one piece, much less alive, was lower than Italy's battle moral. Two, Oliver and the other undergrounds had obviously been preparing this house for a similar situation for a very, very long time.

**__**

Mirrors. Mirrors were literally _everywhere_.

**__**

The floor was a mirror. The walls were mirrors. The ceiling was one flat, polished mirror. There wasn't a single surface that wasn't polished to a mirror sheen or made of reflective glass. There was a line of lightbulbs that led off into the depths of the house, and I gulped deeply, my hand tightening around Prussia's as he whispered something German under his breath. He looked at me askance, and I gave him a shaky smile.

**__**

"I can do this." I said reassuringly. He raised one albino eyebrow, then grinned.

**__**

"Zat's ze spirit. Now, shall we go find our wayward ally?" he asked cheerfully, cracking his neck and rolling his shoulders.

**__**

I gulped eagerly. "Y-yeah. Let's get this over with."

**__**

****

**__**

_***Time Skip***_

**__**

**_  
_   
**

**__**

As we walked further and further into England's house, I found myself turning and looking over my shoulder every few seconds, seeing flickers of shadow that were _almost_ solid, but always dissolved away as soon as I tried to look straight at them. I felt like a fly walking into a colony of spider webs, and every spider was personally after _me_.

**__**

We came to a halt in front of a door –a mirrored door, of course– and Prussia gave a gentlemanly bow. _"Frauliens_ first."

**__**

I swallowed thickly, feeling sicker than ever as the shadows twisted and coiled in my peripheral vision.

**__**

"T-thanks, dude."

**__**

I grabbed the silver knob and twisted, pushing open the door to what seemed to be a normal living room –covered in mirrors, of course.

**__**

Oliver was sitting on a delicate garden chair, with a small tea table at his elbow. A pot of tea and a tray of cupcakes sat upon it, and he was just taking a sip of something suspicously crimson colored. He looked at us, and a wicked Cheshire grin, not fully hidden by the tea cup, lilted across his face.

**__**

My grip on Prussia's hand became hard enough to break bone as the European underground carefully and deliberately set the cup down on the saucer, and then pressed his fingertips together, beaming at us like the evil genius he was.

**__**

"Hello~ poppet. I see that you came, as requested." he cooed, and I could feel Prussia's hand slowly being compressed under my panicked grip. Prussia, however, was obviously an old hand at hostage situations.

**__**

He yanked his hand out of my grip, rubbing it slowly as he glared at Oliver. "Alright you little piece of _scheiße_ , where's South Italy?" he snapped, and Oliver pouted, gesturing elegantly to the tea set at his elbow.

**__**

"Don't you want to stay for some tea?" he asked sweetly, closing his eyes in a grin that was more menacing than inviting, and I was torn between the urge to scream in fear and run or laugh hysterically at the far-fetched resemblance to _Alice in Wonderland_.

**__**

Prussia cracked his knuckles meaningfully. "I don't want any of your shitty tea. Where. Is. South. Italy?" he asked, taking a step closer for every word until he was towering over the still-seated Oliver, who smiled up at him serenely, picking up his tea and taking another deliberate sip.

**__**

"Very well." he murmured around what I halfheartedly attempted to believe was actual tea, and snapped his fingers once. There was a sharp fizzing sound, and a burst of greenish smoke, and I started forward at the sight of the figure kneeling on the ground.

**__**

Then I stopped. And stared.

**__**

Sassy pink scarf. Trendy white jacket. Platinum-blonde hair, obviously dyed. I could see the glint of tiny piercings in his ears, and rosy designer glasses on his nose.

**__**

Prussia stared at the apparition as it raised an eyebrow at us, then whipped around and grabbed Oliver by his shirt front, dragging him up out of his chair, _"Was zum Teufel sind Sie versuchen zu ziehen?!_ (What the fuck are you trying to pull?!)" he roared, and Oliver smiled cattily.

**__**

"What? I promised that you would get South Italy. I just never mentioned which version." he giggled, holding a hand to his mouth, and 2p!Romano stood up, brushing off his designer jacket.

**__**

_"Gesù_ England, no need to be so cruel~!" he laughed, beaming at our general assemblage and tittering. I curled my fists up, shaking with both fear and anger. That… _bastard_ had just double-crossed us! Sure, I mean, we were expecting it, but god _damn_ it we at least expected him to bring Romano into our world, or at least within our reach!

**__**

Suddenly Prussia shoved the smug and beaming 2p!England into his chair and dove his hand inside his pocket as I heard a _click_. "West, I zink we need backup." he muttered tersely, and there was another click as he took his hand back out of his pocket.

**__**

Oliver pouted as he brushed off the front of his button-down shirt. "Oh, was that really necessary? We had a deal~!" he said with mock sadness, and snapped his fingers without looking up. "Italy, why don't you detain their part of the bargain? I think I and this young gentleman have things to discuss."

**__**

2p!Romano's eyes, hidden behind their fuchsia glasses, gleamed predatorily as he flexed his hands and I began to back away. "Come here, _bambina_. I would really rather get this done quickly so that I may go back to my home." he cooed, and Prussia, slowly moving away from Oliver as he rose to his feet, made a shooing motion at me.

**__**

"Run _fraulien_. I'll take care of Mr. Gentleman over here." he growled, and I took one look at Romano's double and obeyed.

**__**

****

**__**

_***Time Skip***_

**__**

**__  
  
**

**__**

Okay, it was official now. I _really fucking hated_ mirror mazes.

**__**

It wasn't the fact that you couldn't find your way in this particular "maze", something I attributed to Oliver's magic, or the fact I had a psycho male fashionita after me, it was the fact that the walls of this one had a disquieting habit of reaching out to kill me.

**__**

As I whipped around a corner, repeatedly thanking whatever misguided deity taking a benign interest in my life that 2p!Romano couldn't or didn't throw knives like his older brother, I felt the newest manifestation lunge and me, and ducked under the ghostly swipe of 2p!China's butcher knife. His blood-red eyes met mine as I skidded across the mirrored ground like a baseball player sliding for home, and there was nothing but hatred there. I whimpered and rolled to my feet as I came to the end of my slide, trying to run faster.

**__**

Whether by dint of the magic tainting the air or the overabundance of mirrors overlapping and somehow weakening their ability to cross over, the 2p!s here that hadn't already manifested in the ordinary fashion were only see-through copies, like ghosts, only far more murderous. I was literally running headfirst into a maze full of killer ghosts that could manifest from any surface, at any time.

**__**

The bleeding scratch over my temple from 2p!Japan and the bruise blossoming on the entire right side of my face caused by 2p!Russia also made it very clear that although they _looked_ like frail, relatively harmless ghosts, they were anything but. I didn't know how and right now it didn't matter, but they could certainly manifest themselves enough to cause me damage, and I was outnumbered to a T.

**__**

Yeah. I was pretty much dead unless reinforcements showed up, and soon.

**__**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-Posted: February 5th, 2020, 6.05 PM USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: March 16th, 2015, 8.49 PM USA Central Time


	41. In Which We Go To Wonderland

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who wonder, Wallachia was what the area/country known as Romania was called when Vlad the Impaler was in residence, and continued to be called such for some time before and after. In other words, Romania was called that when he was a badass country that could take on the entire Ottoman Empire, which controlled a whole lot of the Middle East, Asia, and some parts of Europe. Basically like what the Axis were like in the beginning of WW2 when they were winning, only with more success. No offense to them of course.

_3rd Person POV:_

America was the first person in England's place, and he only had a second to figure out just what the hell was going on with the walls before he ducked, and there was a whistling _crunch_ as a nail-embedded baseball bat buried itself in the wall where his abdomen had been. Looking up, he saw murderous crimson eyes in a face that was his –but wasn't his. It was too tanned, and a tooth from the upper jaw was missing. The sudden sensation of world-wrenching _wrongness_ hit him in the gut like a physical blow, and he would've doubled over if he wasn't a hero, because that wasn't what heroes _did_.

That, and China was right behind him, yanking him up by the collar and pulling them both backward as the oddly transparent image grinned wickedly and faded from view.

The others fanned out behind him –Germany, Romania, Norway, Russia– and the towering mass of the bastard Commie behind him actually felt _comforting_ for once as shadows swirled and deepened in the hallway ahead of them.

"Any sign of Frau Thompson?" Germany asked softly, and he closed his eyes, taking in a slow breath. He could feel it: the millions of tiny lives that acted as his bones, sinew, nerves, and skin. His citizens, his people. One was here.

His cobalt-blue eyes opened. "She's here, but I can't tell more than that. Is there some kinda weird voodoo or something going on here?" he asked, and Norway frowned just barely, a crease appearing between his eyebrows.

"There's something here. A magic to confuse a path, and something for expansion."

Romania cursed. "A mirror maze. _Literally."_

America was about to scream a most un-hero like scream when something gripped his shoulders, but he belatedly realized, with something less than relief, that Russia had merely grabbed him by the shoulders.

"They will try to separate us and pick us off, da? I think we should be staying together." he said firmly, and America uttered a soft "eep" that he would never admit to making as Russia's grip tightened. Norway shook his head.

"The magic can literally expand this place to the size of a small city. We'd never find her or Prussia if we did." he said flatly, and Germany cursed.

"Zey are going to get themselves killed if we just stand around und whine! Will groups of two work?!" he snapped at the two magical nations, and they glanced at each other, then nodded.

Germany scowled, looking them all in the eye. "Right, once you find _either_ Aryana, Prussia, or South Italy, grab them by the wrist and _do not let go_. We have no idea what these 2p!s can do in their own element, and this seems to be it. Once you find zem, try to get out. _Do not_ attempt to join up with us, just run. Understood?" he asked sharply. The other five nations nodded, iron resolve showing in their eyes. Every country past independence was well-acquainted with warfare, and even if this was but warfare on a personal scale, the rules and discipline still applied. "Groups of two, don't let each other out of your sight. America, you und Norway stay together. Romania, you're with me. Russia und China, you two try to avoid anything magical. And make damn well sure you all come out of zis alive, hear me?"

"Dude, duh!"

"Of course, aru!"

"The 2p!s are supposed to be afraid of me, da~?"

"I'll do what I can."

"They will tremble before the might of Wallachia*!"

_Arya's POV:_

I was starting to slow down. I _know_ I was starting to slow down, because I had about six or seven mildly bleeding slashes and cuts all over my body, and 2p!Romano –Flavio, I think his human name was– was catching up to me, calling out strangely endearing threats all the way. He seemed to be oddly like the normal Spain was in the anime: carefree, oblivious, and not exactly bright. He didn't seem to mind at all that I was taking forever to catch, nor the fact that he was supposedly late for…whatever he had complained about earlier. So while my theory of him, along with 2p!Belarus and Prussia, being _meeker_ was still theoretically true, he definitely wasn't harmless, or even neutral.

But back to running for my life…

As I dashed around yet another corner, I furrowed my brow. _Shouldn't I have at least come to another wall or…or something? Where's the **house** part of this goddamn house?!_ I thought plaintively, whipping around yet another corner as I tried to ignore Flavio's cheery threats after me, and I yelped as I ducked backward like Neo from the Matrix, watching something wooden with spiky projectiles whoosh past my face.

I pushed myself up off my hands, whimpering as the next blow scraped my shoulder and sent me off balance. "FUCK!" I snarled, reflexively sending my elbow through my misty enemy, but predictably, it did nothing except make him grin at me viciously and fade from sight. I ran for all I was worth around the next corner, only to smack headfirst into another obstacle and bounce backward.

"WHAT THE FUCK IS IT NOW?!"

_"CHE CAZZO E 'ORA?!"_

I gaped at the figure on the floor across from me, rubbing his ass and muttering in Italian.

"Romano?!"

His own amber eyes widened when they saw mine.

"Aryana?!"

A friendly, yet threatening coo from behind us made both our heads whip around. 2p!Romano clasped his hands, beaming at us like Hungary in her extreme-shipping mode.

"Oh, aren't you two just adorable! But we really have things to do, so why don't you both-"

Before he could finish his sentence, both me and Romano scrambled to our feet and bolted for another hallway. Flavio sighed loudly from behind us, starting up his own pursuit. "Run as far as you like, but you'll never get away~!" he singsonged after us, and I glanced at Romano as we dashed around another corner.

"He's wrong, right?!"

"Well, I've been running for a few hours, and so far, no exit!" he snapped, before ducking and pushing me aside as 2p!Switzerland and Liechtenstein both shot out of the walls and floor. I squeaked and arched my body around a vicious uppercut from the latter, who looked absolutely nothing like her original counterpart.

"I think Prussia called in reinforcements before we split up, so, you know, we should be able to get out eventually, right!?" I asked desperately, and he shrugged, skidding a little as we darted around another corner.

"They'd better!" Romano snarled, clutching his shoulder, which was somehow still bleeding.

_3rd Person POV:_

Meanwhile, back in the "living room", Prussia and Oliver were have a tense standoff. The eerily cheerful Brit smiled disarmingly as he whipped a small razor around and through the fingers of his right hand, giggling to himself, and Prussia had a reflective chrome bar that he had wrenched from the delicate tea table.

"Not zat I expect un answer at zis point…but why? Why all zis rigmarole? _Frau_ Thompson told us about your pasts. Why not just come back, not posses us, but come back?" Prussia asked warily as he took a few steps to the right, and Oliver matched him, still blocking the only exit.

"Oh, that's fairly complicated. You see, as I'm sure she's mentioned, we are the _criminal_ undergrounds. Your _alternate_ personalities, what you could've been if history had turned out different."

He flicked the razor around in his hands. "We're like oil and water, cats and dogs. We are _meant_ to fight, _meant_ to clash. If I took it just a few steps further, who would care? Not us, and since you'd be dead, not you, either. Let us take over the ruling of your people. With the state the world's in today, no one would even notice." he said with a chuckle, and Prussia frowned, making a feint towards the left, which Oliver did not follow.

"Yes, zey would. When you started killing people off." he pointed out sharply, and Olivier grinned like the Cheshire Cat he was.

"Yes, well, the population of this world could use some thinning out. Resources are so scarce, and whatnot." he purred to himself, licking the blade of his razor and smiling. "You're the stepping stones. The annoying little poppet will die here, tonight, and you and your comrades will fall. This world will be ours, and who knows!" Oliver smiled secretly to himself. "Maybe we'll find a new world to move on to."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-Posted: February 7th, 2020, 9.52 AM USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: March 18th, 2015, 11.14 AM USA Central Time


	42. In Which There is No I in Team

_3rd Person POV:_

Romania and Germany dashed around a corner, the latter snapping off six or seven rounds at the ghostly image following them. 2p!Germany, or Lutz, let the bullets shoot through his face, doing nothing but ripping little round holes in his misty form, which almost instantly coalesced and swirled back to normal. He smirked at them, and as his image suddenly flickered forward to the hallway in front of them, returned the shots in kind. Unlike his original's bullets, his did damage, a bright red stream of blood trailing down Romania's cheek, a hole in Germany's boot that sent him momentarily stumbling to the shiny floor, and several rips and tears that were quickly stained red with blood, blood that very quickly healed.

"ARYANA! ROMANO! PRUSSIA!" Romania called, quickly chanting out a magic spell that sent Lutz scowling and fading away into the endless mirrors.

Germany scowled and began shooting out the mirrored panels, one by one, as they received no answer. "Zat'll help, right?" he growled as he snapped his gun open and began to reload, and Romania nodded.

"Yeah, I guess. We, –well, _you_ – can't really shoot every single mirror here. But every little bit helps: I think they can only manifest through something large enough to fit their body through."

Germany sighed and finished reloading his gun with a _snap_. "Zis is going to take forever." he grumbled, and Romania began flipping through his spellbook urgently.

"Not necessarily. Oliver has too many players and essences cooped up together in this space, he can't expand it and change its layout too fast or too close together. Doing that would mean too high a chance of trapping himself or his own comrades. If we destroy enough mirrors, his control over this area should be loosened, and we can perhaps find each other more easily." he said eagerly, and Germany suddenly pushed the other nation into another hallway, yanked a grenade out of his pocket, and pulled the pin. He chucked it into the other hallway and waited a moment, then grinned as it exploded and took out the entire hallway.

"Zat should speed it up."

* * *

_America & Norway_

* * *

"Dude, this is so freaking scary!" America shrieked as he ducked under another swing from 2p!Russia, sweating nervously. Norway glowered silently at the other nation and muttered something under his breath, and a bright blue light filled the hallway, accompanied by hundreds of high, wailing screams. When it receded, the 2p!s and shadows swirling and lurking in the corners of the hallway were gone, and America was left in a somewhat ridiculous position, cowering with his arms wrapped around his head to cushion an impending blow, eyes squeezed shut. When no such blow came, he opened one sky-blue eye, then grinned nervously and lowered his arms. "Haha, sorry dude! It's just…ghosts man, ghosts."

He looked a little pale as he said this, and Norway sighed, still maintaining his deadpan expression.

 _Why was I stuck with the idiot?_

_"Ja_ , very good for you." he muttered flatly, starting to flip through the pages of his spellbook. "Break some of the mirrors for me, make yourself useful."

America eyed the nearest wall nervously and gently bopped it with a fist. "W-why dude? The ghosts are _coming_ from the mirrors! I-I mean, it's not like I, the hero, am scared of them, but still!" he stammered, trying and failing not to look nervous. Norway wished devoutly that he could just slam his spellbook into the idiotic American's skull and be done with him.

 _"Ja_ , and if you break the mirrors, the ghosts go away." he replied with the thinnest veneer of patience he could muster, and his eye twitched slightly as America began immediately smashing every last mirror in the hallway.

"DIE GHOSTS DIE! AHAHAHAHAHA! I'M NOT SCARED OF YOU! I'M NOT SCARED OF YOU EVEN A LITTLE BIT!" he called gleefully. Norway decided then and there that after this was over, he would never speak to anyone out of Europe again. Screw that, he was going to limit his contact to the other Nordics, and that was _all_.

"FEAR THE ALMIGHTY WRATH OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA! HAHAHAHA! STUPID GHOSTS, I'M NOT SCARED OF YOU AT ALL!"

Norway wished fervently that he had a spell of silence ready on the page he had flipped to.

* * *

_China & Russia_

* * *

"U-um, do you think they are anywhere nearby, aru?" China stammered, constantly turning around in a circle as he fingered the handle of his wok nervously, watching Russia calmly saunter along as if he had no fear of anything.

China was the oldest of all living nations, he had dealt with ghosts and goblins and all sorts of nasty other things on his own turf –being a nation meant that you witnessed a lot of supernatural things over your lifetime– but somehow the thought of psychopathic copies of himself and all the other countries that he had guided, dealt with, and fought over the long centuries sent shivers up and down his spine. As much as he disliked some of them, he _knew_ them. They were familiar, faces he knew as well as his own, faces he had seen for century upon century and had never changed, not even a little. But now all those familiar faces were different and evil, even the nations he had grown to like, the ones he had taken care of.

An iron hand descended on his shoulder, and he yelped and turned.

Russia smiled at him, but his eyes were cold. "Comrade, do not jump around as much. Your movement is distracting." he said firmly, and China swallowed.

"S-sure, aru." he squeaked, and Russia smiled at him childishly.

"Thank you, _da~!"_ he said happily, then suddenly lashed out, bypassing the ghostly image of China himself, and slammed his pipe into the mirror the image came from. China didn't even have to try to dodge the angry swipe of a butcher's knife before the image shattered, fragmented into pieces like the mirror buckling under Russia's pipe.

China stared at the other nation, before finally giving an angry shriek and smashing the mirror closest to him with his wok. "Aiyah! Do not do that sort of thing without warning me first, aru!" he snarled, starting to systematically relieve his stress with a solid round of destruction.

He was far too dignified for a maneuver under normal circumstances, but by everything under Heaven, this was far too stressful at his age!

_Arya's POV:_

"Romano, seriously, please tell me that we're going to find an exit soon!" I pleaded as we skidded around a corner of what seemed to be blood –from what I didn't want to guess– and continued running for somewhere that we hadn't been already.

It was far easier than what we wanted.

"I don't fucking know! _Sono sotto stress troppo, si sa_ , who the fuck is this guy chasing us anyway?!" he snarled, grabbing me by the shoulder and yanking me around another corner as the loopy Italian chasing us threw a bottle of something almost acidic-looking at our backs.

"Well…" I murmured, sweatdropping as I followed him in another circle, halfheartedly hoping that it would lead to somewhere we had already been. "He's kinda your 2p."

_"CHE COSA?!"_

"Dude, watch out!"

We both crashed headfirst into another apparition, and I tumbled to the floor in the lap of someone suspiciously familiar.

"Oh, hey dudette." America said blankly as Romano rubbed his head, muttering Italian curse words under his breath and Norway sucked in a deep breath through his nostrils, obviously at the end of whatever patience he possessed as he dragged both Romano and America to their feet, leaving me to tumble to the floor in unchivalrous disarray.

 _You know, if I wasn't so grateful, I'd be seriously pissed at Norway right now._ I thought irritably as I struggled to my feet, and Romano hurriedly grabbed me by the elbow, tugging me towards the direction America and Norway had come from.

"C'mon bastards, let's go!"

America blinked twice as Norway raised an eyebrow.

"Why?" he asked as my original nation looked utterly blank. Norway then paled and ducked as 2p!Romano appeared from around the corner and threw another vial of whatever-it-was at us. His eyes widened in understanding.

"Okay! We leave now!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-Posted: February 7th, 2020, 10.00 AM USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: March 22nd, 2015, 9.14 PM USA Central Time


	43. In Which People Are 2-Faced

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looking over the AN on fanfiction.net reminds me of just how much time has passed. Like, goddamn. I was talking about getting my first ever job and it was FIVE YEARS AGO.
> 
> Ugh. How time flies.

_3rd Person POV:_

As Norway, Romano, and the two Americans ran around the rapidly shifting and reshifting hallways of mirrors, the other nations were running into problems of their own.

* * *

_Prussia (Awesome, the)_

* * *

_"SCHEIßE! SCHEIßE! SCHEIßE! SCHEIßE!"_

Prussia ducked and dodged under the swipes of Oliver's razor, sweating profusely. The other nation had murmured something wicked-sounding to the blade before attacking him, making it glow green, and was now slashing at him as if he had every intent of chopping the (awesome) ex-nation into itty-bitty pieces, maniacal grin plastered on his stupid British face.

He lashed out with his left foot, smacking into Oliver's shin and causing the underground to hiss, his leg momentarily buckling, as an extra-vicious swipe sent Prussia scuttling backwards. He wasn't a magicker like Romania or Norway, and he didn't know much about this guy like Arya, but even he could tell that _glowing green blades_ were most likely far more dangerous and potentially harmful than non-glowing ones.

"Vat's the matter?! Can't hit a target older zan a little girl!?" he cackled, masking his unease with bravado (as usual), continuously trying to edge around the Brit and get to the door out of here.

Oliver smirked painfully, twirling his razor. "Oh no, not at all. I just dislike hitting an exhausted opponent. What's wrong? Can't stay together for longer than a few centuries?" he teased coyly, and Prussia growled, clenching his fists and wishing for a moment to have Gilbird with him, so the little canary could take a dump right on this fucker's head. Then good sense reasserted itself, and reminded him that he would almost certainly loose his beloved little sidekick-of-awesomeness if he dragged him into this mess.

Prussia let loose with a right hook, which Oliver ducked under, and he arched his body backwards as the wicked little blade slashed at him again, tearing a long slice in the fabric of his shirt over his stomach. "Ha! Missed me!" he shouted triumphantly.

Then he gagged, feeling and tasting the familiar crimson stickiness of blood flowing out over his lips. _"V-vas?!"_ he choked, feeling the burning pain spreading from his chest outwards. And behind him-

 _"Oh wirklich? Ich schlug._ (Oh really? I hit.)"

The voice, so familiar. The smell of cigarettes ghosting past him, riding the breath of his assailant. Blue eyes, so much like his own. And the damnably familiar hilt of the freakishly similar sword currently buried halfway in his chest. Prussia suddenly let out a half-mad laugh, splattering his chin and the front of his shirt with blood as both Oliver and the other blinked at him, one nonplussed and one monotone.

"Kesese~! Of course, its mein own awesome double that strikes ze killing blow for ze awesome me!" he cackled, swaying slightly and more than half relying on the sword buried in his abdomen to hold him on his feet.

"PRUSSIA!"

* * *

_Germany & Romania_

* * *

_**Smash. Smash. Smash.** _

_**Smash. Smash. Smash.** _

_**Smash. Smash. Smash.** _

Germany and Romania ducked and dodged under the slashes, bullets, and stabs that the ghostly images threw at them, busily destroying each and every mirror in the long, long hallway. With kick and punch and counterspell, they wove their way deeper and deeper into the mirror maze, destroying it as they went.

Suddenly Germany held up his hand, curled into a fist, and Romania fell silent. Faint voices could be heard, and since none of their foes so far had even made an _attempt_ at speech, it followed that the voices belonged to their allies. Still, caution was warranted, and both countries crept forward with all due and proper wariness. The voices grew louder and louder, until they came to a perfectly finished –and reflective– door.

Germany put a finger to his lips, then gently closed his hand around the doorknob and turned it, excruciatingly slow. He put his eye to the door, then gasped and flung it open. Before Romania could scold him, his own eyes widened, seeing the mastermind of the convoluted plot standing with his back to them, and Prussia, looking over his shoulder with blood spurting from his grinning lips, at a nearly identical copy of himself.

"Kesese~! Of course, its mein own awesome double that strikes ze killing blow for ze awesome me!" he was snickering, and Germany took a step forward, seeing his elder sibling swaying on his feet.

The double looked at them both, his expression as flatly neutral as Norway, and ten times more ruthless. Romania's eyes widened as Prussia choked up another mouthful of blood.

"PRUSSIA!" he blurted, and Oliver whirled, the closest expression to shock and anger either nation had either seen momentarily crossing his smirking face.

Germany instantly spotted the glowing razor in his hand. "Romania?" he asked, not taking his eyes off the scene before him. The magical nation narrowed his eyes.

"It…it seems like…I don't know what that is. Stay away from it." he warned, and Prussia's double pulled his sword from the ex-nation, sending him onto the floor on his knees, then his side. Germany snarled, baring his teeth, as the double raised his sword above the prone country.

"Step. Away. From. My. _Bruder._ " he snarled, stalking forward as the 2p looked at him with a completely uncaring expression.

"Fine. Vhatever." 2p!Prussia rasped, shrugging as he placed the bloody sword over his shoulders. He sent an equally empathic glance at Oliver. "I'll go get ze _fraulien. Tschüss._ " he drawled, then walked towards and through one of the mirrored walls.

Germany and Romania drew their weapons, of steel and paper respectively.

Oliver smiled a Cheshire smile, and flicked his razor blade back and forth.

* * *

_America, Arya, Romano, & Norway_

* * *

"DUDE! DUDE!"

_"Che ora!?"_

"What? Dude, speak English!"

"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU WANT, STUPID AMERICAN!?"

Norway and I exchanged long-suffering sighs as 2p!Romano threw another bottle of acid at us.

"HAHAHAHA! Dude, why is your double such a douchebag!"

"I DON'T KNOW, MAYBE HE LEARNED IT FROM YOU!"

 _Please, someone kill me…_ I thought pitifully as Romano looked just about ready to strangle America, whether or not it would get him caught again. Norway was muttering what I dearly hoped were spells directed at the 2p!s and not the arguing couple in front of us, flicking through his spellbook rapidly with a tick mark throbbing on his forehead.

"Dude, there is no way I am his citizen." I growled, a tick mark glowing neon red on my own forehead as well.

Norway stopped his irritable muttering to glare at me out of one eye. "Other than using "dude" for the start of every sentence, you couldn't be more different." he agreed in a rather sulky undertone, as if he was somehow disappointed at my…lack of America-ness.

We all rounded a corner as the mirrors in front of us suddenly blurred, and became shattered wrecks of their former selves. Romano and I gasped, but America and Norway looked pleased.

"The magic is wearing off." Norway said quietly, and I too felt an uplifting in my spirit as Romano actually started to grin a little.

Which was of course the moment I was tackled sideways and put at swordpoint.

_I swear to God, this is becoming a fucking pattern…_

I looked up to glare at my attacker, then my jaw swung low as a cloud of cigarette smoke was breathed into my face. I coughed, my eyes tearing up from the noxious fumes, and grabbed at the wrist of my attacker, trying to wrench the sword away from my throat. As his face swam back into view, my eyes automatically darted away in embarrassment, and I noticed I was no longer in the same hallway as my allies. I also noticed there was no one else, and my eyes snapped back to his.

"Please, Gillen-"

He yanked the sword away from my throat, and I gulped, seeing it was covered with blood. As per usual, he had a cigarette dangling from his mouth.

"C'mon. I'm taking you to Oliver." He muttered, grabbing me by my collar, and I stared at him.

"W-wait, Gillen, _Prussia_ -"

His grip abruptly tightened, and I choked and thrashed, my air cut off.

"Shut up. _Hündin_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-Posted: February 7th, 2020, 10.09 AM USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: March 28th, 2015, 9.57 PM USA Central Time


	44. In Which There is Much Ticking Off

_3rd Person POV:_

China and Russia looked at each other warily, watching the hallway in front of them ripple and dance like a reflection on the surface of a windy pond, the mirrors pristine, then smashed, then picture-perfect once more. "I do not trust this, aru." China said uneasily, looking to the hallway full of smashed mirrors behind them, then at the rippling, dancing images before them.

Russia nodded, a tiny frown crossing his face. "Me neither. It seems dangerous, _da?"_

They both looked behind themselves again, watching the shadows on the fragments of mirrors flicker and weave.

"Besides, it is not like we have another choice. The hallway behind us is already gone, _da?_ Maybe this is the way out." Russia added, and China frowned pensively, slinging his wok over his shoulder.

"We should hold onto each other, aru. No telling what would happen in there." he said warily, and Russia smiled, grabbing the smaller nation by one of his trailing sleeves.

"That is a good idea. You hold onto me, and I use the pipe in case we need the defending, _da~?"_ he asked cheerfully, and China gulped before gingerly taking hold of Russia's scarf.

"A-alright, let's go, aru."

They both stepped forward as the rippling, glimmering effect swept over their eyes like a curtain, and China nearly lost his hold on Russia's scarf when their vision cleared as they appeared in a room full of the _other_ nations, all staring intently at a wall full of video screens, some dark and some still functioning. But, luckily before any of them caught sight of the surprised originals, they shivered and melted away as the scene changed.

China was prepared for the world to melt and resolve back into the hallway they had been in before, but the world turned dark, then bright as they reformed in _another_ hallway, this one with a smashed glass vial and a pool of something green and foul-smelling. Within seconds, _that_ was gone too, and China yelped when they came face to face with Arya and a man with white hair, a cigarette, and dull blue eyes, who was holding the latter in a chokehold with a sword at her throat.

When Russia tried to step forward and attack the obvious enemy, China regaining his wits and following, the world shattered and melted away again, and resolved in front of one of the other groups, only with an extra addition. Russia and China's momentum sent them forward, out of the freakish vortex, and at the surprised feet of Romano, America, and Norway.

"What the hell, Russia?!" America yelped, and the Arctic nation gave him a friendly yet menacing smile.

"We have been traveling through the mirrors, I think. Tell me America, did you know where your citizen went just now~?"

All three of the other nations looked shocked. "Wait, you saw her?!" Romano barked, and China got to his feet, brushing off his crimson sleeves.

"There is another 2p, he looks like one of you stupid Europeans. Why the hell weren't one of you with her, aru? Where's Prussia? Why are you all just standing around?!"

"He snatched her right out from under our noses, don't know, and I was _trying_ to get these idiots to step into the void when you two popped out." Norway responded blandly, and both America and Romano sent him dirty looks.

"Well you try looking at some kind of _capriccioso_ black hole and not want to jump in!" Romano retorted hotly, and America snorted and folded his arms.

"That looks way too much like some kind of freaky nuclear reactor for a hero to go in on his own!" he added, and the Nordic rolled his eyes towards the heavens.

"Please, someone be talking the senses into these two. I wish Romania was here, he knows what he's doing."

* * *

_Romania, Germany, & Prussia_

* * *

_"Mitero yo-"_ Romania half sang, half yelped as he ducked and dodged under the swipes of Oliver's knife. _"-ore no osoroshi sa-"_ The opposite nation was grinning manically, but his grin seemed rather forced, and rage glowed in his magenta-blue swirled eyes. _"-wo omoishiraseru tame!"_ Romania finished, sending the alternate nation flying backwards in a blast of orange-red light. Germany had his hands full trying to reanimate Prussia and defend them both against the furious attempts of other, less material 2p!s.

Things only got worse when the Prussia look-alike dragged a kicking, screaming Arya into the room by the hair.

"Aryana!" Romania squeaked, then whipped backwards to dodge the vicious knife swipe by an angry Oliver.

Prussia's double watched the dueling nations with a bland look, the cigarette dangling from his mouth smoldering softly. He made no move to subdue Arya, who was kicking and snarling and scratching at the hand that held her, except to hold her firmly by the hair and not let go, no matter how many abrasions were beginning to mark themselves on his wrist and hand. He loosely held the same sword he had stabbed Prussia with in his other hand, still slick with the ex-nation's blood. As Germany screamed oaths at him and tried to revive his brother and Romania spat out various charms and quick spells, trying to somehow pin down Oliver, the cigarette ashes stopped glowing and 2p!Prussia looked down at his mouth in surprise.

Stabbing his sword into the ground, completely ignoring the chaos going on around him, he spat the butt of his finished cigarette out and stuck a new one in his mouth, scraping a match against the sword's hilt and touching it to the cancer stick in his mouth as a stream of nicotine wafted up into the air.

"DON'T MIND THE GOSH-DARN CIGARETTE! KILL HER! KILL THAT EVIL, NAUGHTY LITTLE POPPET!" Oliver screeched over his shoulder, and the 2p representation of Prussia raised one albino eyebrow.

"Vat, zat's it? No interrogation? No nothing?" he rasped flatly, and Oliver's blue eyes glowed magenta pink.

"I DON'T _CARE!_ SHE'S TOO DANGEROUS! KILL HER, KILL HER **NOW**!" he shrilled, and the alternate Prussia sighed and abruptly tossed the struggling human on the ground in front of him, wrenching his sword out of the ground.

Arya instantly got her elbows up under herself, lifting her body off the ground and panting heavily, glaring up at the alternate ex-nation as he impassively raised the sword above her. She quickly flicked her knees under herself in a crouch, ready to spring backwards, and all the original nations were too busy with their foes to stop the Prussian from attacking her.

It looked like a match that would end quickly: Gillen was many times older, faster, and more experienced than Arya, not to mention he had a full-fledged sword while she was left with not so much as a butter knife to her name. Oliver and the alternate Prussia were clearly aware of this: Oliver's eyes held wicked glee, even though he was facing away from the human and nation, and Gillen's eyes had the flat, unfaltering look of a predator sighting in on its prey.

* * *

_Russia, China, Norway, Romano, & America_

* * *

_"Nei, nei, nei, nei, nei, nei, nei, nei, nei-"_ Norway muttered to himself, flipping through his book rapidly as the four nations behind him fixed anticipatory and dagger-like glances at his back.

"Norway, you should be finding the spell to take us to the young American soon, _**da** ~?"_ Russia said darkly, smiling ominously as Romano and America scooted away from him, China already as far away as possible and still stay close to the group.

Norway's agitated flipping and muttering continued. "Excuse me if finding the proper spell in a multi-hundred page book while guarding against interference from a magically adept psychopath is not easy!" he snapped in a rare display of emotion, flipping faster throughout the book as Romano began to growl under his breath in Italian and America started eyeing the flickering vortex again, as if deliberating on whether or not to jump in.

"Dudes, we gotta hurry, there's no telling what's going on with Arya and those freaky doubles!" he said impatiently, and Norway grew a tick mark.

"I'M TRYING! _Sprengt Amerika, alltid så utålmodig_ …" he growled under his breath, the pages starting to blur as he scanned through them rapidly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-Posted: February 7th, 2020, 10.26 AM USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: April 5th, 2015, 8.48 PM USA Central Time


	45. In Which Corruption is Distortion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized in retrospect at one point that I was taking a lot of cues from "Perchance to Dream" by Jennisms, also on fanfiction.net. It's this wicked good fanfic about the 2p!s, you all should go and read it.

_3rd Person POV:_

Things were not looking good for the good guys. Prussia was still bleeding –sluggishly– and had regained enough of his strength to stand, but could barely do so, swaying on his feet as he relied on his brother and the darting attacks of the shadowy 2p!s to stay upright. Romania was slowly but surely being backed into a corner by Oliver, who was grinning like a maniac as he wielded the glowing razor which had rent many tears and slashes in Romania's clothes. Prussia's double was still watching the retreating Arya emotionlessly, the cigarette in his mouth glowing slightly as smoke drifted up from it and his mouth.

"Any last words, _fraulien?"_ he rasped, and Arya glared at him.

"Fuck you and fuck your friends." she spat, and a corner of his mouth twitched as he reversed the grip on his sword.

"Haf it your vay zen."

"ARYANA!" Romania cried out in desperation as he ducked under another swing by Oliver, followed by a muttered jinx as the other magical nation yelped and staggered back a few paces, as if stung by the aggressive flash of light that followed.

Arya's eyes snapped to the other nations briefly, then darted back to Prussia. _"Tun Sie das nicht._ (Don't do this.)" she pleaded quietly, stepping back a little further as Gillen automatically moved to cut her off from the only exit available.

His sapphire blue eyes displayed no emotion as he looked on her impassively. _"Ich muss._ (I have to.)" he replied simply, stepping forward as she backed up hurriedly.

Her back hit the wall, and Arya involuntarily looked behind herself, exposing her neck for the barest of seconds.

Gillen struck.

_Arya's POV:_

_Shit shit shit shit shit shit shi-_

I felt my back impact a hard, flat substance, and involuntarily looked behind myself.

 _Fuck, I couldn't have hit the wall already!_ I thought in panic, then –felt, sensed, saw– Gillen move in front of me. I whipped my head back around –and choked as a line of fire marked itself along my throat.

I saw Gillen's face suddenly coated in a line of red droplets, and clutched at the searing, _burning_ sensation of the wound in my throat, feeling my hot, sticky blood flow over my fingers and down my chest. I choked in breath after breath, feeling the copper taint of the blood make its way into my nostrils and simmer down my throat, watching the pristine mirror-like floor at my feet become covered by a crimson tide of blood. _"Ack akk agk…gk-k…"_ I gasped, feeling more blood leak from my mouth and down my throat.

I collapsed to my knees, feeling my legs quickly become soaked with the crimson tide. _Too much blood. Too much blood. Oh God, t-this is too much blood._ I thought blankly, staring at my shining, slickly-red hands and wrists, feeling more and more of the precious, life-giving substance leak over my fingers. Gillen suddenly grabbed my hand away from my throat, and I let out a wet, gargled yelp, looking up at him in sheer horror.

 _Oh god no, don't let it end like this, not like this, not like **this** …_ I thought desperately, choking out more and more blood by the second as Gillen merely stared at me, like I was an interesting bug.

 _"Dummes Mädchen._ (Stupid girl.)" he muttered absently, lifting me up off the ground by his grip on my wrist as he brought his bloodied sword forward again.

I was going to die. _I was going to die._

_Goingtodiegoingtodiegoingtodiegoingtodiegoingtodiegoingtodiegoingtodie-_

All I could see was blood-red fire. Then darkness.

_3rd Person POV:_

"ARYA!" Prussia bellowed as he saw the young human go limp, her hand falling away from the crimson slash in her neck that poured blood. He yelped and ducked under the vicious swing of a half-formed shadow, then cursed as his knees nearly buckled underneath him once again. He may have _stopped_ bleeding, but he was still lacking pints of his own damn fucking blood, and that had _effects_ on the rest of the body. His muscles were weak and his mind was slightly woozy, his attacks slow and uncoordinated. Germany was half holding him up, which was decidedly unawesome, and now the human he was charged with defending was being held by her wrist about a foot off the ground, pouring blood, and either dead or unconscious. He sincerely hoped it was the latter.

Meanwhile, his utterly, completely, and in all ways **_unawesome_** double was holding her off the ground like she was little more than chopped meat, and positioning the sword like he was lazily debating stabbing it through her middle. _"Scheiße!_ Leave ze _fraulien_ alone, you bastard!" he shouted desperately, staggering forward as he gripped the metal bar he had wrenched off the tea table, and his double looked at him through emotionless eyes the color of sapphires. And then he did it. The one thing that, at present, could infuriate Prussia beyond all belief.

He winked.

 _"DU VERDAMMT VERDAMMTE STÜCK SCHEIßE! EINFACH WARTEN, BIS ICH MEINE HÄNDE AUF DU, ICH WERDE DICH VERDAMMT NOCH MAL FETZEN ZERREIßEN!_ (YOU GODDAMN FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT! JUST WAIT UNTIL I GET MY HANDS ON YOU, I'LL RIP YOU TO FUCKING SHREDS!)" Prussia howled, rage giving him enough strength to break free of the clinging, shadowy forms that pooled around him and Germany and tackle his double in a long, skidding roll that ended up with them both against one of the mirrored walls and Arya falling with a splash into the ever-widening pool of her own blood. The other him was surprised –for a split second– and that gave Prussia time to deliver one of the most satisfying sucker punches he had ever thrown to the underground's nose. 2p!Prussia snarled in pain as his head smacked against the polished silver of the floor, and his original let out a yelp as he felt a fist connect with his ribs, cracking one and sending him off his double with a curse of pain.

Prussia rolled to the side, dodging the next hit, which would've connected with his stomach and driven all the hard-won air out of his lungs. He actually found himself biting back a "Kesese" as he rolled to his feet in time to dodge the sword blow from his opponent. Shitty douche bag of a double that he was, he still fought like the awesome Prussian himself.

He ducked another overhand slice and laid into his opponent with a left hook, wincing as he impacted solid flesh and muscle, but grinning all the same as his double let out a curse identical to his own from before.

Suddenly Gillen's sapphire eyes rolled up in his head as there was a loud, meaty _"smack"_ , and his body folded in on itself as he collapsed to the ground, the back of his silvery hair dyed crimson. Prussia looked up from the body as Russia lowered his now-bloody pipe, smiling innocently.

"I have not had the pleasure of doing that to you in a long time, East Germany~!" he said happily, and Prussia glared at him.

"That's my double, not me." he snarled, and added in an undertone _"damn Russian bastard"_.

Russia ignored both sentences and instead looked over his shoulder. "I hope the little _devushka_ is being the okay. She has lost much blood." he added in a ever-so-slightly less psychopathic tone, and Prussia straightened abruptly.

"Shit fuck! Arya!"

He dodged around the extremely tall and extremely unawesome Arctic nation, skidding a little on some sporadic pools of blood, noticing as he did that America and China were assisting his brother in beating off the other 2p!s, and that Norway and Romania were ganging up on the now-violently-lashing-out Oliver, whose sky-blue eyes were tinted with more than a hint of magenta. Arya was still lying on her side in a pool of her own blood with Romano frantically trying to get a bandage on the gruesome wound in her throat, and Prussia immediately rushed over, falling to his knees in the sea of blood.

 _"Scheiße!_ Arya, you still alive in there?! Talk to me _fraulien!" _he called out, shaking the comatose human rapidly as Romano socked him in the jaw.__

____

"Knock it off, _bastardo!_ She's unconscious, not dead, and she needs medical care!" he shouted angrily, continuing to press scraps of his shirt against the spurting wound. Prussia nodded, accepting the insult quietly for once as he distractedly settled on trying to scrub her hands and wrists free of the sticky red tide.

____

He paused.

____

One of her fists was curled shut, and he could see a scrap of something whitish sticking out, splattered and soaked with blood like the rest of her.

____

Prussia teased her fist open, gently withdrawing the scrap, which turned out to be a piece of paper. His albino brows immediately furrowed as he scanned over it, because there was only one way, and one opportunity, for her to get something like this into her hand.

____

It would have to be given, because the way the blood was spattered indicated that she had gotten it after her throat had been cut.

____

And it would have to have been Gillen to give it to her, because this was the hand he had been holding her up by.

____

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-Posted: February 7th, 2020, 10.33 AM USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: April 28th, 2015, 7.50 PM USA Central Time


	46. In Which There's An Overdose of Comatose

_Arya's POV:_

_…Am I dead?_

_I feel so light and floaty…it feels weird._

_What can I remember…?_

_Oh…yeah…Prussia's warning._

_A quick, hushed whisper in my ear._

_"I hope you know vat you're doing, fräulein."_

_The feel of strong fingers curling my bloody hand around a scrap of paper, making me form a tight fist before letting go._

_Sapphire blue eyes giving me a subtle wink, then going flat at the sound of someone yelling my name and moving to look at the enraged nations…_

_So Gillen gave me some kind of message…or warning…or something… ___

____

I felt my forehead knot in frustration, even though my eyes were closed and most of the sensations around me were hazy at best. This would be so much easier if I wasn't dead or comatose or whatever I was right now! I didn't even know what he bloody gave me!

____

Well…I suppose that since I wasn't going to be doing much else, I could try to figure out my current situation and/or predicament.

____

Point Number One: My throat had been cut, so it was a mixed likelihood of me being either dead or merely unconscious right now.

____

_So…how do I figure that one out?_

____

_Well…I suppose if I was dead, then I'd either be going to Heaven or Hell right now, neither of which is happening, so I guess I'm either in limbo. That or I'm only mostly dead._

____

Oh, the joy of _Princess Bride_ quotes in a life-or-mostly-death situation. Inconceivable!

____

Ahehe…anyway, back to the job at hand.

____

_Okay, so I'm probably not dead yet. That means that I am unconscious and therefore vulnerable._

____

Oh goody, Point Number Two! Which side had my body?

____

_Well, if it was Oliver, then I'd probably be bloody fucking dead, 'cause he has no reason to keep me alive at this point. Side note, why is he trying to kill me and not trying to interrogate me anymore?_

____

Oy! First things first.

____

_Right, that means that either someone sympathetic or on my side has my body, which means I'll hopefully be getting medical attention soon._

____

_Point Three, the most worrisome currently on my list: Why was Oliver not trying to interrogate me anymore? What was he planning?_

____

That may be two points, but they both tied into each other, so it counted.

____

_Right…so, let's run through everything I know at this point and form some theories._

____

_Number One: Luciano and the other 2p!s have all rambled about the stereotypical "we don't like you, we want your world because it's shiner than ours, bla bla bla" when they came over._

____

_Number Two: The process to change a 1p into a 2p involves some kind of (probably magic) powder and mirrors. To change them back, you smash a mirror over their heads and/or get them to leave the 1p's body and smash all surrounding reflective objects._

____

_Number Three: For whatever reason, Oliver/2p!England is in charge of their mad quest for this world's domination._

____

_Number Four: While the 2p!s did find a "nice" alternate world, something that roughly coincided with the "invention" of the 2p!s in our world drained their world of energies and pulled their minds and auras way out of shape._

____

_Number Five: While most of the 2p!s are totally and undeniably not good guys, some, like 2p!Prussia, can be relied upon to act in interests different than Oliver's goals._

____

_So...theorizing..._

____

_Oliver has most likely guessed that, since their world is slowly dying, it will eventually go out of existence entirely, and has planned to take over **this** world to give them a place to go. Since he is either the only or the most powerful one with magic, thusly the only one able to get them out, the rest of the 2ps obey him to a certain extent. This fits in with Points 1, 3, and 4._

____

_The process to cross over probably involves some sort of "fairy dust" or magic powder that links the recipient nation's body with 2pland and/or their double. The mirrors are used as the easiest form of magical travel, in conjecture with the oh-so-delightfully-ominous statement regarding mirror magic from my Superstitions book, that "…mirrors are often considered to be portals in some way: one never knows what might come through when the conditions are right (or wrong, as the case may be)."_

____

_This fits in with Points 2 and 3._

____

_Gillen (and perhaps some of the other 2p!s) do not agree with Oliver's methods, ergo they are rebelling against the plan in small, unnoticeable ways, since if they are open about it the others will probably rip them apart. This is Point 5._

____

Alright, now that I knew (hopefully) what was going on, I could formulate some counter-plots of my own.

____

_1\. I cannot tell any of the 2p!s about the fact I am from a different world, even though Oliver has probably already guessed or suspected. Not even Gillen, because what he doesn't know can't be tortured out of him._

____

_2\. I need to figure out a way to permanently stick the 2p!s, if not back into their world, then at least into one where they can't cause the originals or me any trouble._

____

_3\. After sticking the 2p!s somewhere else and/or defeating them, I need to tell England and the other magic nations about my dimension-travel, in the hopes they can help me get back home._

____

_4\. Waking up from this coma would be nice._

____

_Gillen's POV:_

____

When I woke up, I realized I was alone in the room Oliver had set up for "meeting" the little American female and pretending to trade her with the other Romano.

____

Rubbing the back of my head as I sat up, I realized that whatever had hit me, it had probably been something metal, since I had the bloody remains of a concussion. A tiny smile flickered around my lips as I pulled a cigarette out and lit it, inhaling and exhaling slowly as the soothing nicotine spread throughout my system. If it hadn't been for that bastard knocking me out, maybe me and my double could have had a good, rabble-rousing fight, like we used to. The smile grew slightly wider as I was reminded of all the times we beat each other to bloody shreds, and then flickered as I remembered that my double had no memory of any of them.

____

_Well, sheiße._

____

As I struggled to my feet, I automatically scanned around for my sword, and frowned as I noticed it next to a rather large puddle of blood. Despite my rather apathetic feelings towards anything not cigarettes and…cigarettes, I felt a small, tiny, barely-noticeable flicker of concern regarding the young human. I had cut into her pretty hard, and although I tried to take into consideration her cockroach-like ability to stay alive and her tenacity regarding injury, she was still just a human. Rather fragile and breakable, all things considered.

____

I shook my head, as if physically trying to push away such thoughts, and walked over to my sword, avoiding the puddle of blood by…default.

____

It wasn't guilt. It wasn't. I just didn't want to get my shoes dirty.

____

I raised an eyebrow as I saw France standing next to my sword, switching my cigarette to the corner of my mouth in preparation to speak.

____

_"Kann ich-"_

____

I cut myself off as I noticed Vladimir stalk through one of the only unbroken mirrors, unsmiling and holding that gigantic pipe of his as I broke out in a faint sweat.

____

"Vat ist zis?" I tried after a few moments, irritated, and hissed in surprise and anger as my arms were suddenly grabbed from behind, rendering me defenseless and immobile. Allen's angry crimson eyes gleamed into mine as I looked over my shoulder, and it took every ounce of my formidable willpower not to gulp.

____

An angry-sounding _"ahem"_ sounded from in front of me, and I looked around again, seeing Matt leaning against his hockey stick in a deceptively apathetic pose.

____

"Vat ze hell are you lot doing?" I rasped eventually, hoping this wasn't going to end up with my cigarette privileges being revoked.

____

Matt tapped a foot against the ground, slowly, his eyes narrowed behind his black shades. _Zat's not good._ I thought as a trickle of nervous sweat ran down my jaw, and I narrowed my eyes at the North American nation.

____

"Vell? Are you going to explain zis, or not?" I hissed, and his left eye twitched.

____

"Sure hoser, why not? We've just jumped you because you, fuck-face, are a traitor."

____

My poker face didn't falter. "Bullshit I am."

____

His eyes narrowed further. "You are."

____

I raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "Vhy vould I be?"

____

A mirthless smirk curled at his lips. "I dunno, why _would_ you do something that you knew would piss us off beyond belief?"

____

I deadpanned. "If I vas suicidal, zat might be it. But I'm not."

____

"Is that bitch such a good slut she convinced you to help her out?"

____

"I vouldn't know. Never met her before today."

____

"Or maybe you miss the good ol' days when you and that fuckface Prussia could beat the living shit out of each other?"

____

"If ze plan works, I get zem back. I haf no reason to delay it zen, do I?"

____

"Are you two-timing her then, is that it?"

____

"For ze last time, I'm not even one-timing her."

____

"Oy, maple-head, I think he's not into it." Allen drawled from behind me, his grip loosening slightly.

____

Canada gave me one last searching look, and at last nodded reluctantly. I relaxed slightly as they both moved away, then grunted as a fiery explosion of pain was ignited in my knee. Allen had kicked it with a steel-toed boot.

____

_"Was-"_ I started to snarl, but then hissed and fell to my knees as he aimed another kick at my other joint, and Matt joined in with a left hook to my cheek. As the blows rained down upon me from both nations, with Vladimir and Francois soon pushing off the wall and joining in, I sadly reflected that it would probably be a while before I could enjoy another smoke.

____

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-Posted February 7th, 2020, 10.48 AM USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: May 30th, 2015, 9.43 PM USA Central Time


	47. In Which Mistrust is Just

_3rd Person POV:_

"…so now what, West?"

Germany sent a withering glare towards his brother, then looked back at the figure currently tied down to the wooden chair. "Now we get some _answers_." he said menacingly, cracking his knuckles.

Gathered around him, China, America, and Russia all nodded, with the latter smiling gently and glowing a dark violet-purple, "kolkolkol"ing under his breath. Flanking the chair, Romania and Norway looked at the bloodied nation, both frowning subtly.

Oliver, his collar slightly torn and a small trickle of blood leaking from his mouth, beamed at them all impartially, as if their glares were flattering. It didn't fool anyone –his eyes were glowing a soft magenta, and his fists were curled tightly on the arms of the chair, giving his smile a ludicrous, painted-on quality.

"So…how is the human?" the British underground asked through his smile, and America twitched as Russia's own "smile" became ever-so-slightly more forced, and China let out a soft "aru" of anger as Germany and Prussia clenched their fists. Romania and Norway, who knew the human only slightly, just glared. None of them answered, and Oliver's wicked grin widened just slightly.

"Oh, sugar. She didn't _die_ , did she?" he asked with undisguised glee, and Germany's eye twitched.

"That remains to be seen. Now, _tell us what you're planning_." he growled, stepping forward and looming over the bound nation. Oliver merely smiled even wider and remained silent.

"Zis is getting us nowhere, West." Prussia pointed out sullenly, and Russia withdrew his pipe from his coat.

"Maybe we can do some **_persuading_** , _da_ ~?" he asked with faux cheerfulness, and Oliver narrowed his eyes subtly.

"Go right ahead. It won't do you any good." he chuckled softly, and Romania and Norway glanced at each other.

"Oh really? What do you mean by that?" the Nordic asked shrewdly, and Oliver twisted his neck to look at him, winking cheerily.

"That's a _secret_ , poppet!" he cooed, and Prussia let out a hiss of frustration, moving forward angrily before he was stopped by China and Germany's arms. Both Europeans sent a look of surprise towards China, who blinked once and then looked at Oliver.

"What you mean by _"it won't do us any good"_ is that you aren't in your own body, isn't it, aru?" he asked angrily, and Oliver grinned wider.

"Maybe~" he trilled, and China looked at the others.

"In my culture there are a lot of supernatural creatures that specialize in possession, aru. Often their main source of protection is the fact they are using an innocent person's body as their host, so any pain inflicted on them will also affect that person. My guess is this _man_ -" Here he sent an evil glare at Oliver. "-has used enough magic to negate that, and switches _all_ of the pain he's afflicted with to England, aru."

America blinked twice. "That actually makes a lot of sense, dude." he said in surprise, and China grew a tick mark.

"What do you mean _actually_ , aru?!" he barked, and the American laughed nervously.

"Hahaha, sorry dude!" he said apologetically, waving his hands in front of himself defensively. Germany pinched his nose in frustration, muttering something about _"they're never serious, even in mortal danger"_ as Prussia continued glaring at Oliver and Russia continued smiling away, gently tapping his pipe against the palm of his hand. Romania and Norway were still watching the unmoving criminal nation like cats at a mousehole, waiting for the sneaky magic-user to try something untoward and more than ready to counter it.

Oliver sighed, still smiling, and then stretched vigorously, or as much as he could when he was bound hand and foot to the chair. "You know, you're all asking the wrong person the wrong questions." he commented casually, and China and America broke off arguing to stare at him.

"What do you mean by that?" Romania finally asked, narrowing his eyes, and Oliver licked his lips.

"Do any of you know where Miss Thompson is from?" he asked suddenly, and all eyes turned to America.

"Well! She, um…she…" he started brightly, then trailed off, his blue eyes clouded and uncertain. All nations were connected to their citizens: they could read (if pressed) their minds, their hearts, everything that they were. This included, as everyone in the room knew, where they were born. After a few moments, America shrugged helplessly, his brow furrowed as he scratched his forehead. "I tried a couple times, but…it's like she's not even there, dudes. I _know_ she's one of mine, the affinity is there, and her accent's right, but…I can't read her."

Germany scowled disbelievingly. "Zat's impossible! Where else could she be from?!" he snapped.

Oliver chuckled, closing his eyes as he did, making them all look back at the bound ex-nation. "Indeed, where could she be from?" he giggled, opening the ice-blue orbs. "She knew about you and she knew about us before she ever even set eyes on any nation, present or otherwise. How? I know for a fact there was no book written about _you:_ the only books on us were destroyed by me and written for your benefit. So that means she lied about how she knew about both _you_ and _us_. Why would she lie?"

The countries snuck uneasy glances at each other, but Oliver continued. "Furthermore, did you ever think to question why or how an American teenager managed to get herself into the middle of the Italian countryside? Why she was alone? Why she hasn't pressed the issue of returning to her family, or even letting them know she's alive? And you two-" Oliver sent a sly smirk towards the Nordic and European magicians on his sides. "You've _seen_ that lingering cloud of magic about her, don't bother denying it. She had to be around pretty significant spell, for it to leave such a lasting residue."

Norway looked as if he'd swallowed a lemon, while Romania glanced at the others apologetically, sensing their accusatory and surprised stares. "Sorry, but that much is true, at least. Aryana does have a magical taint around her, the sort of residue only a really, _really_ powerful spell can leave. We always just dismissed it as leftover from the two world transfers she did while here, but…those weren't _that_ powerful." he admitted, and an uncomfortable silence fell over the nations, while Oliver smirked icily.

"And besides, a last name like "Thompson"? That's rather generic. If she's been lying to you about where she's from, not to mention how she got here, what _can_ you trust her about? After all…" He smiled grimly.

_"She's been lying to you since day one."_

_Arya's POV:_

I sat bolt upright with a gasp, then gagged and clutched my throat. I felt like I had just inhaled fire, fire that smelled and tasted like searing copper. As I hacked, clutching my throat, I felt rough cotton under my fingers, and a disturbing feeling of emptiness, of lack of space, under the bandages.

My mind froze, then kicked into high gear as I felt a cold sweat break out all over my body, my wheezing breathes speeding up. Had Gillen had cut out my vocal cords? Was I going to be mute for the rest of my _life?_ Was I even going to be able to breathe on my own? I wanted so badly to poke and prod at the wound, assessing damage, but I also really didn't want to drown in my own blood, which was what I was more than halfway sure would happen.

A hand suddenly took my own away from my throat, and as I looked to the side, I saw Romano, legs crossed and dressed in a casual button-down shirt and jeans, sitting calmly on an off-white chair as he placed my hand on the hospital bed, then reached for some water.

I opened my mouth, but Romano sent me a warning glance, handing me the water. "Drink." he said shortly.

Obediently, I drank some of the bland tap-water down, wincing and making a face as it acquired a metal tang halfway down my throat, stinging at my open wound. Romano waited until I had stopped making faces before uncrossing his legs and leaning forward in the chair, watching me blankly.

"You," he began, shaking his head slowly at me. "Have more lives than a cat, _krautlet._ If they had waited just a few more minutes in the operation room, if that bastard had cut just a few more millimeters in either direction…"

He held up a hand as I opened my mouth to retort with some dismissive banter of my own. "Don't talk: your throat is too damaged. The doctors have ordered you to not eat any solids for a few months, and you're not allowed to talk for several weeks. That sword cut opened your throat up like a gutted fish: you're only alive because he missed your main arteries –by less than a half-inch, I might add." He glared at me as he finished, and I rolled my eyes and picked up the notepad and pen that had probably been left for my benefit on the bedside table. I scribbled out a note and handed it to him, and Romano grew a tick mark as he read it.

> `I know, I know, I'm a human cockroach. You sound worried; I guess you don't hate me that much, do you? ;)`

"YOU LITTLE –NO, I'M NOT! I-I'M JUST CONCERNED ABOUT LOSING OUR INFORMATION!"

> `You're blushing, dude.`

"SHUT UP!"

> `But I didn't say anything. `

"I WILL REOPEN YOUR THROAT WITH MY BARE HANDS UNLESS YOU SHUT UP! GODAMNIT! STUPID FUCKING _KRAUTLET!"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-Posted: February 7th, 2020, 10.59 AM USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: July 6th, 2015, 9.14 PM USA Central Time


	48. In Which Arya Reveals All

_3rd Person POV:_

"Do you believe him?" America asked flatly, folding his arms as he looked at the others.

Romania and Norway were busily locking down a spell grid to keep Oliver from doing anything unexpected, but most of the G8 (and a few others) were present in the unattended hospital office France had secured for them.

Germany shifted from foot to foot. "Well…we know Aryana hasn't been telling us everything she knows. But she's never given us any other reason to doubt her word." he pointed out pensively, and Prussia nodded several times.

"Exactly, West!" he snapped, pointing to his brother. "She might not have told us her whole story, but she's been a damn good ally in fighting zese bastards! Do you _honestly_ think we'd still be alive if she hadn't helped out?" he snarled, and Germany nodded impatiently.

"I _know_ zat, _Preußen_. But we have to consider ze bigger implications."

"Such as?!"

"She could be from _anywhere_." Russia pointed out quietly, bringing the elder German to a screeching halt. "She could be _anyone_. Another of those doubles, even, or from their world. That would explain her knowledge of them very well."

Prussia glared at the taller nation, but remained silent. America, sensing the mood for once, realized the feeling in the room was rapidly taking a turn for the doom-fraught. "Hey, dudes! We could just, you know, ask her! Tell what we know and make her come clean!" he all but shouted, and Japan, unnoticed so far, spoke up from his spot sitting on the corner of the desk.

"American-san, I find it highry unlikely, even if she doesn't have anything to hide, that she wirr _"come clean"_ just because we ask." he said calmly, taking a sip from the paper cup he held, and the Western nation glared at him. Japan stared back, unfazed. "America-san, I owe her a lot. But we need ze truth." he added quietly, correctly guessing the reason for the other's angry look.

France stroked his stubbly chin. "I hate to suggest it, but Romania and Norway could probably cook us up a truth potion, easily." he mused, and Germany frowned slightly as Prussia scowled.

"We can't just force it down her throat, or have you forgotten?!" the albino barked, and France held his hands up.

"I'm just trying to find a good compromise, _mon ami."_ he said softly, and Prussia cursed and ran a hand through his hair.

He froze, along with all the others, as the door creaked open and the subject of the conversation walked in, clutching a hospital blanket around her shoulders. Her voice was raspy and weak, but it was clear enough as she looked them all in the eyes.

"You guys don't have to drug me or trick me. I'll tell you everything."

_Arya's POV:_

My first order of business, after begging Romano –mutely, of course, which irked me– to at least heal my throat to the point where I could talk, was to find out what the paper Gillen had given me said.

My opportunity came when Romano left, in his typical surly fashion, to check up on the situation of the snacks in the vending machine, and I pulled the slip of paper out from under the corner of my mattress, where Prussia had allegedly put it earlier. Sure enough, as I suspected, it held a phone number and a timetable, and after a few seconds of calculation, I pulled out my (brand spanking new) cellphone and dialed.

_Ring ring._

_Ring ring._

_Ring ring._

_"Hello?"_

I let out a gigantic breath of relief. It was Gillen, just as raspy, German, and deadpan as he was when I last heard him.

"Dude, it's me, Arya." I said croakily, and he paused.

 _"You can talk? How ist zat possible?"_ he asked in surprise, and I shifted slightly on the blankets.

"Romano helped me out. So, um, why'd you…you know, do this?"

_"Do vhat?"_

"Give me the phone number. And on that note, is this line safe?"

_"Ja, ja, its fine. I realized that I had already more or less thrown in mein lot vith you, so I might as well go ze whole eight yards."_

"Um…its nine yards, dude. The English saying is "go the whole nine yards". Not eight."

_"Nine, eight, vhatever. You know vhat I mean."_

"No, I don't. If you only go the eight yards, that means I still have a one-yard chance of betrayal and/or abandonment."

_"You won't get **any** yards unless you shut up about zat stupid metaphor."_

"Right, sorry. So…what's the situation?"

_"Oliver ist still in your world, but he's held prisoner. I don't doubt ze other countries vill manage to evict him from their England's body soon-"_

"That's great!"

_"Not for you. Oliver suspected you for quite a while, und he's probably gathered enough information to confirm his beliefs. He's going to share zat information with zem."_

That didn't sound good.

"And his beliefs are…?"

_"He thinks you're not from zis world, or from ze one we live in. Und he's going to use that information as leverage against you with ze others."_

"WHAT?! But I…"

I trailed off. Seen from another point of view, my non-truthfulness _would_ seem very suspicious.

 _"…I'm guessing its true?"_ he asked after a few moments, sounding resigned. I squirmed about, fisting the covers and letting them go, then took a deep breath and answered.

"I…yeah. I'm sorry I haven't told you or anyone, but I…" I tried, but he blew me off.

 _"It's fine. I understand. But you're going to need to come clean to ze others, ASAP."_ he said urgently, and I nodded gratefully.

"Yeah, thanks."

_"Out of curiosity…vhere are you from? Vhat's your world like?"_

I stared out the window for a few seconds, the phone at my ear. My fingers drummed a restless and absentminded tempo on the blankets. "Well…it's not that different than yours. Lots of crime, world going to hell in a handbasket, celebrities having scandals every damn day of the week, so on and so forth. We have pretty much the same countries as you guys, too. Some of the mirconations might be different…but probably not. As far as I know, we don't have nation representations/avatars/whatever-you-are in our world, either."

_"Zat's it?"_

"Pretty much, yeah."

_"…go tell zem, now."_

"Will do. Talk to you later, eh?"

_"Yeah, sure."_

I clicked the phone off, then placed it in my pocket, sliding out of bed, before shivering and snatching the blanket to take with me. There had been a storm going on for several hours, but for some godforsaken reason the hospital attendants had either left on the AC or turned it _way_ up prior to turning it off. Romano had informed me earlier that we had gone to a French hospital as soon as we had left England's house, being as it was the closest country, and I stifled a snicker as I walked along, imagining how the tea-drinking nation would have blown a fuse. Then my smile dropped, as I remembered that England was in no position to do much of anything, much less blow a fuse over something as stupid as his old rivalry with France.

Well…then again…it _was_ England. Holding grudges was kinda his thing.

Irrelevant musings on the Anglo-Saxon aside, I soon followed the sound of arguing to an old office that had apparently been cleared for the nations' use. I could hear the distinctive voices of America, Japan, France, and Prussia arguing back and forth, and gulped as I realized they were arguing about me.

Sure, I knew that the _Hetalia_ characters were goofy and childish 90% of the time, but most of the world's current countries were 500 years plus, and you just do not live that long without getting some extra iron in your spine. In more pedestrian terms, country personifications could and did become rough n' tough S.O.B.s whenever they felt it was necessary, and judging from their tones, on this occasion, it was necessary.

Eavesdropping would not help my case, however, and with a deep breath, I opened the door. Conversation instantly stopped dead, and I winced as I saw Russia, Germany, America, China, France, Japan, and Prussia all spread throughout the room, some standing, some sitting in the stupid little wheely chairs, and others reclining on the desks. Prussia looked like I caught him about mid-sentence, his hands buried in his silver-blonde hair, and he closed his mouth with a snap as I spoke up.

"You guys don't have to drug me or trick me. I'll tell you everything." I told them croakily, my throat still sore as hell.

Japan, one of the nations who was sitting on the aforementioned desk, stood up and walked over to me. I didn't move, and neither did anyone else, as we came nose to nose. His deep brown eyes bored into mine like a bottomless abyss, and I gulped slightly.

"Aryana Thompson. That is your name, _hai?"_ he asked coldly, and I nodded twice.

"Yeah. Aryana Thompson, born in Virginia, USA, raised in same. I'm a fan of anime, occult science, and philosophy. No siblings. I'll turn seventeen in October of this year." I rattled off hoarsely, and he narrowed his eyes.

"Explain everything you know." he commanded, and I swallowed again and licked my lips. This was the killer question.

"…You mean how I know about you guys? And the 2p- I mean, the undergrounds?"

_"Hai."_

I sighed and ran a hand through my hair. "Well, as a forewarning, this is gonna sound fuckin' insane, which is partly the reason I hadn't told you already. _Other_ than Japan, do any of you guys know about anime?" I asked impatiently, and America blinked twice.

"Yeah, those are the freaky cartoons he makes, right?" he asked, and Germany made an affirmative movement from beside him.

"Italy, Prussia, and I know of them too." he said shortly, as Russia and France looked almost-but-not-completely-blank, and China just looked dumbfounded.

"Yes, I know anime. What does that have to do with anything, aru?" he asked, and I squirmed in place, Japan still not having taken his eyes off my face.

"Well…in my world, there's this show called _Hetalia: Axis Powers_." I started slowly, seeing Japan's eyes widen just fractionally as he heard the title. "It's an anime, which is a Japanese cartoon for those of you who don't know, that details the fictional exploits of personified nations; such as America, Japan, England, France, Germany, Russia, Prussia, and China." I continued, and saw each and every male's jaw in the room drop to the floor. I shifted my gaze back to Japan's. "In the anime, Japan is depicted as an Asian man with flat brown eyes, black hair, and a Japanese imperial Navy uniform. He likes sushi, tuna, and anything salty. He has a problem getting used to Western culture, especially the nudity aspects."

Japan's stupefied expression became even more shocked in a rare display of emotion.

I looked at Russia next, who was obviously processing this faster than his comrades. "And Russia is a towering giant with purple eyes and blonde hair, terrified of his younger sister Belarus and very protective of the scarf Ukraine, his elder sister, made for him. She gave it to him in exchange for control of the Kievan Rus though, which made him say _'My sister's a total nutjob!'_ Russia is also protected by a scary spirit called General Winter." I rattled off, and Germany looked at the Artic nation in surprise.

"Is zis true?" he asked shakily, and Russia nodded twice, his violet eyes wide and blank.

"True to the very words…" he whispered, and I gave him an apologetic smile and turned to the room at large.

Expressions across the room changed swiftly, becoming shocked, amused, and floored by turns as I rattled off everything I knew about _Hetalia_ , the statistics, the names, each and every character trait I remembered, some of my favorite scenes –which all turned out to have actually happened at one point or another– and all of the many and mangled alternate worlds that the fanbase managed to come up with.

Including the 2p!Verse.

"-they started out as a drawing on the author's blog, of Italy and the other Axis, actually. He wanted to try something where if the "original" Hetalia character, Player 1, was taken in a video-game like scenario, they could have Player 2, the alternate color. And the Player 2 stuck with the fans, let me tell you. Pretty soon, even though the author never did more than three or four of the character drawings, and left a few half-completed sketches lying around, the fandom had completely assimilated the Player 2s as the evil, psychopathic versions of the normal Hetalians. Player 2 became abbreviated as 2p, Second Player, or Alternate Personality, and fans everywhere began inventing personalities for them, personalities that clashed completely with the ones of the originals. They are "Player 2" after all, and they're supposed to be the _alternate_ versions."

France, being perhaps the most artistically in tune of the current group, saw the problem at once. "That's why you were always so vague and uncertain on information, _mon cher_. With so many people compiling ideas, and with so few facts, you weren't quite sure which theory the real things would belong to." he said in a tone of realization, and I nodded gratefully.

"Yeah, that's it. I knew they were by and large ruthless and violent, but I didn't know who specifically, to what degree, or sometimes even in what way. England, America, Canada, and the Axis are usually the same at the core, but their details and just everything about pretty much everyone else is completely open to interpretation. It's nice when you're writing about them, but not so much when you're trying to discover any weaknesses they might have."

Prussia rubbed his forehead. "So, in other words, you're from a world whose history is more or less exactly as ours, only without country personifications, und we are nothing but a child's cartoon show?" he asked wearily, and I shrugged and nodded.

"Pretty much."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-Posted: February 7th, 2020, 11.09 AM USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: July 24th, 2015, 6.05 PM USA Central Time


	49. In Which We Duel to the Death

_Arya's POV:_

In the long, loooong list of stupid, semi-suicidal things I had done since entering the _Hetalia_ universe, this was probably the worst.

As I cautiously pushed open the door to yet another "abandoned" office, the man in the chair jerked his head up, then smiled slowly. I didn't see how he had anything to smile about: he was bound hand and foot (and several other places) to that chair, which in turn was bolted down to the floor, and I saw magic sigils and runes covering every spare inch of the floor, the walls, the ceiling, the stupid fricking chair, even.

Then again, 2p!England always was a smiler.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?" he asked sweetly as I sidled into the room, and I glared at him as he smiled wider, innocently. His bright blue eyes almost glowed under his strawberry-blonde bangs, which were in slight disarray.

Oliver was disheveled in general, as a matter of fact. Romania and Norway obvious hadn't been gentle when they had taken him in. His cotton-candy colored outfit was rumpled slightly, I could see traces of bloodstains on his face: his hair, as I had noted earlier, was also out of its usual arrangement.

I crossed the room in several quick steps, then reared my hand back, my fist clenched. Oliver barely had time to widen his eyes in surprise before I punched him in the jaw, throwing his head back with a sharp , _crack_.

"YOU FUCKING BASTARD! YOU GODDAMN LITTLE PIECE OF SHIT! YOU STUPID FUCKING CUNT!" I screamed, punching him again and again as blind rage fired my world, demanding that I hit and hit and _hit_ this _creature_ that had put me through so much suffering. I kept shrieking at him, using every swear word I could possibly think of to piss him off, demeaning him with every curse and oath I could remember, just trying to make him feel the same pain I had felt.

He didn't move, didn't attempt to fight back or push away, and when I finally got tired and lowered my fist, my knuckles bloodied, he looked up at me and smiled grimly, his eyes glittering with the rage his smile didn't show. "Now now, _poppet_ , that was uncalled for." he chided gently, and I grabbed him by his stupid fucking bowtie, hauling him as forward as the ropes would allow as I pulled my fist back again.

_"Fuck you!"_

"So I assume my guess was correct, yes?" he said cheerily as my fist came within inches of his face, and I lowered my hand slowly, letting go of his bowtie and letting him fall back into the chair.

"I don't give a shit whether or not you know about where I'm from." I said, panting slightly, and he smiled painfully.

"Come now, poppet. Don't be coy. You're afraid of me trying this very same thing, but in _your_ world." he chuckled, and I growled.

"But you won't, will you?" I asked, backing away a step, and he shook his head, still grinning with his eyes closed.

"Oh no, no. your world is useless to me: all I want is _this one_."

His blue eyes, now sharply tinged with magenta, opened and bored into my own. "But you _ruined_ my plans. I don't want your world, but _you_ , on the other hand, will suffer greatly before I'm through." he hissed, his voice becoming guttural from sheer hatred alone. Part of me shivered and cried and said that _running away would be a really, **really** good idea right now_, but I ignored it and stepped forward, cracking my knuckles.

"So then, _England_ , we're at war. Winner takes all." I snarled, and he grinned ferally.

"Very well then, poppet. As you so quaintly said, winner takes all. A no mercy, fight to the death. I'll destroy everything you hold dear." he hissed, and I gritted my teeth.

"And I'll bring you down before you can, old man." I spat back, and we glared at each other in silent hatred for a few moments, savoring the feeling in the air now that our deal had been made.

It wasn't about 2p versus 1p anymore, or even getting the 2p!s back to their own world and keeping them there. This was a personal fucking feud between me and Oliver: loser lost everything; their friends (if he even had any), their freedom, and perhaps most importantly for me, their _life_. Winner got to be top dog for the rest of their existence, and a life free from the loser's taint.

Oliver was the type to hold a grudge: I could see it in his eyes, even though he would deny it with every inch of his body language. He _hated_ me now, and if he had to scrap every last bit of his plans to see me crawling in the dirt, he would do it, and he would do it without a second thought. And me? I just wanted him to fucking _stay down_ , so that I wouldn't have to spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder in fear.

Vengeance versus vengeance.

Hatred versus survival.

Might and magic versus wits and luck.

Centuries of experience versus sixteen years of normalcy.

Immortal nation against extremely mortal human.

"You're going to lose, you know." Oliver stated softly, already having jumped ahead of my train of thought. His glowing blue eyes bored into mine as he smiled slightly. "You're going to lose, and then you're going to die."

I glared at him. "No, I'm fucking not." I hissed, throwing in the swear word just for luck, before whipping around and stalking towards the door.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you~" Oliver sang, and I paused at the door, glancing over my shoulder at him.

"And why would that be?" I asked shortly, and he smiled.

"Oh, no reason. Do you know why a raven is like a writing desk?" he asked randomly, and I stared at him for a few seconds, dumbfounded.

A small thought popped up in my head. _Oliver likes misdirecting people. Think like a stage magician who works by sleight of hand and illusion: what would me staying here do?_

I glanced at the door, then at him again as he smiled innocently. _If I stay here, then that means he can see me? No…no that's not it. Me staying here…that would mean that whoever came down the hall would find me in here with him. But that wouldn't get him anything: I could easily explain why I was here. It's not like they're short-tempered enough to just attack me on sight…_

My eyes widened, and I shot a glance at him again as he tilted his head, still with that hypnotizing smile. _But a 2p **would** attack me on sight, no questions asked. And if I was in here with Oliver, and someone came along to rescue him…I would be trapped. Trapped like a rat._

With that thought, I instantly flung open the door and walked out, pausing for a moment to look over my shoulder. "Why is a raven like a writing desk? Poe wrote on both." I said as a last parting comment, and walked out, closing the door.

As I walked quickly down the hallway, I glanced at the sky outside the windows. Oliver had been imprisoned on the top floor for security reasons, and I saw with a slight, instinctive twinge of fear, that it was nighttime. Shaking off the dark thoughts, I speed up my pace, seeing the elevator at the other end of the hall with its dully gleaming steel doors.

Pressing the button, I again contemplated on just what I would tell the other nations, the ones who hadn't been present for my little "talk" in the hospital office. I would have to tell them everything, but I wanted to at least _try_ and frame it more eloquently than _"I'm from another world, you're all cartoon characters, and the evil people who look like you are actually just fan theories."_

I sighed a little as the little glowing numbers dinged one by one, the elevator slowly ascending up to my level. _Blunt as it is, that's really the only way I can think to tell them, or at least, the only way I can tell them without forgetting a bunch of possibly important details._ I thought sadly, then as the last floor lit up and the doors open, I stepped forward without thinking. I mean, it wasn't like anybody ever actually used this elevator: the hospital had been more or less taken over by the nations and all their red-tape government officials. However, I was soon proved to be wrong as I thudded into someone's chest, and I heard an identical curse from him as the abrupt smell of woodsmoke, maple, and cigarette fumes imbedded in his shirt made me cough, and we both staggered backwards.

I froze. _Wait a second._

I snapped my head upwards, and realized four things in very fast succession. One, the chest I had run into was covered in an eccentric mix of bandages and a plaid Canadian shirt, and two, the smell of woodsmoke and maple called to mind several very specific things I knew about a certain male 2p. Three, he had a cigarette dangling from his mouth, and I only knew one Canadian chain-smoker. Last but most certainly not least, as my gaze finally snapped upward to his eyes, the dull violet brightened into an intense and furious purple, and I knew he had recognized me too.

"SHIT-"

_**"YOU!"** _

I launched myself backward by pure instinct, and a good thing too, as his hockey stick slammed into the ground where I had been standing just a few seconds before. I backpedaled furiously as 2p!Canada advanced towards me, cursing me out in a very inventive string of expletives, ones I half attempted to memorize, just so I could use them on Oliver later.

However, being chased by the Canadian berserker soon gave flight to those thoughts, and I had to concentrate with all I was just to keep in one piece. I was half-tempted to hide in one of the offices and lock the door, but I knew it would only take a few punches from the Canadian nation to reduce any one of these doors into tiny splinters.

And yet I was being backed slowly but steadily towards 2p!England's "cell", and if I let this continue, Matt would either A) back me into a corner or B) chase me into the room where Oliver was held. Neither of those situations would end well for me, and I frantically cast my mind about, trying to figure out a way to at least call in some help.

"You think you can kill me with my own goddamned hockey stick?!" 2p!Canada spat, using said weapon to carve slices in the air mere inches from my head as I desperately ducked and dodged, still being steadily pushed backwards.

 _Godamnit, what do I do?!_ I thought frantically, both feeling and hearing the _swoosh_ as the hockey stick struck down less than an inch from my ear. _Defensive is all very well and good, but all you can ever do with defense is hold the other person off, Arya! Attack him, damn it!_

With that last, somewhat desperate thought, I dove my right hand into my pocket and pulled out the small switchblade I had taken to carrying around, unsheathing it and lunging forward, ducking under the swipe of his hockey stick.

In the approximate two seconds it took for him get over the shock of me actually attacking, I had gouged out a desperate slice on his forehead, just above his eyes. I'd been aiming for his _actual_ eyeballs, remembering how well that strategy had worked against his brother, but, with either long centuries of practice or out of pure reflex, he had ducked just in time.

I shrieked and jerked backwards again as 2p!Canada lashed out blindly, blood running down his face and into his eyes, screeching curses at me.

I reached into my other pocket and yanked out my phone, hitting speed dial as I backed away as quickly as I could. Before Romano or Prussia or whoever I had dialed could ask what was wrong, I put the phone on speaker and held it up towards 2p!Canada, who was still cussing me out for all he was worth, shaking his head violently to try and get the blood out of his eyes.

I put the phone off speaker and held it to my ear. "I'm on the top floor. Help me, _now."_ I whimpered, then clicked it off and held my tiny, three-inch blade in both hands as Matt finally wiped his face on the sleeve of his jacket, turning to glare at me with death in his eyes.

He spoke slowly, spoke clearly, and spoke murderously. _"You. Will. Die. **Now**."_ he snarled, advancing down the hallway towards me, and as I backed up and remembered there were only a few meters between me and the end of the hall, I really, really hoped that the elevator was a fast one, and my allies were nearby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-Posted: February 7th, 2020, 11.17 AM USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: July 30th, 2015, 11.01 AM USA Central Time


	50. In Which We Have a Small Mirror-Fight

_Romano's POV:_

As I was busily devouring the second stash of chips I had liberated from the vending machine, I wondered where all the others had gone. Then I remembered: preparing the magic ritual we were going to use to kick the crazy _inglese bastardo_ out of the other, slightly-less-crazy _inglese bastardo_. Aryana had wandered off somewhere, probably to do something feminine and stupid, and I fully expected to be called any second.

_Ring-ring._

_Ring-ring._

_Ring-ring._

I rolled my eyes with a world-weary sigh, pulling my phone out of my pocket and pressing _talk_. As I put it to my ear, I realized with some surprise that Aryana wasn't pouring out whatever troublesome shit she had gotten into now, and frowned.

_What in the…_

**Click.**

_"-YOU FUCKING BITCH, YOU FUCKING WHORE, YOU **GOUGED OUT MY EYES!** I'M GONNA RIP YOU APART AND USE YOUR INTESTINES FOR A FUCKING **JUMP-ROPE** BY THE TIME I'M THROUGH WITH YOU! GET BACK HERE YOU LITTLE-"_

Before I could react to the voice of the _other_ Canadian bastard, the voice cut off, and I heard Arya's terrified voice.

 **Click.** _"I'm on the top floor. Help me, **now**."_

Without another word in parting, I shoved my phone back in my pocket and was streaking off down the hall, the pack of chips falling to the ground and forgotten as I ran like only a panicked Italian could. I grabbed a round mirror the size of my face from the startled hands of some woman walking in the hospital entrance with a bunch of cosmetic shit, ignoring her cry of shock and outrage as the breeze of my passing wooshed by. My heart was thumping in my chest and I was scared out of my skin, but the very Italian spirit that fueled my terror also gave my feet wings, because no true Italian would ever let a damsel in distress stay in distress.

_The stairs or the elevator?_

_Stairs. The elevator is slower._

I slammed open the door and bolted up the stairwell, taking the steps three or four at a time, my legs a blur. Startled medical aids and guests shrieked as the whirlwind that was me shot past, but my concern wasn't on any of them. That little _krautlet_ better not die in the five seconds or so it took me to get to the top!

There was the door to the very highest floor, and I slammed it open with my shoulder, skidding to a stop as I rapidly assessed the situation. Arya was backed against the very farthest wall, and the towering tree-hugger that was 2p!Canada was facing her, blood dripping from somewhere on his face onto the tiled floor.

"OY! _FACCIA CAZZO!"_ I shouted, hurling the plate mirror towards the back of the taller blond. With faster reflexes than his bulky frame suggested, he whipped around and despite the blood running over his eyes, swept the hockey stick he carried in one hand around and smashed the mirror into multiple sparkling shards.

_Shit._

The fucker paused and shook his head like a dog, and I saw now what Arya had done: a long cut above his eyes poured blood over his face, making it impossible for him to see with any clarity for more than a few seconds. That was encouraging for us, but really, it was the only encouraging thing. The only mirror on this floor as far as either of us knew was on the floor in tiny pieces, and the Canadian was between me and Arya, so I couldn't grab her and run for it.

 _Shiiiit…_ I thought in panic, frantically looking around the hall in the hope that France's narcissism had passed on to his citizens and there was a mirror hanging on a wall somewhere. No such luck: this place was covered in fancy artwork, which I would normally have admired (and checked to see if it was stolen from me and my stupid brother), but right now I was too busy to appreciate.

"Oy, _krautlet!_ Any mirrors?!" I called across the hall as the 2p stood awkwardly, trying to keep one eye on Arya and one eye on me, despite the blood running down his face. She shook her head silently, her face white and terrified.

I swore in Italian, then remembered something and pointed to one of the offices, trying to convey what I wanted with wiggled eyebrows, knowing that if she could get into one of those offices without the Canadian hearing or seeing her do it, she could have a few precious seconds to search for something reflective.

Arya scooted over to the wall, trying to move without the 2p getting a good look at her, and I belatedly realized she would need a distraction.

 _"EHI! QUI, BASTARDO!"_ I shouted, picking up a chunk of the mirror from the floor and throwing it at the hulking Canadian. He swore and ducked sideways, away from Arya.

I kept chucking shards at the 2p, distracting him long enough for Arya to quickly open and close one of the office doors, getting somewhere marginally safer than this open, exposed hallway. Except I was the target now, and I hissed in frustration as I reached down and encountered bare floor. I backpedaled a bit, but realized with a chill that I had already thrown all the shards within my reach, and the blood flow across the Canadian's face was slowing down.

_Arya's POV:_

_Mirror mirror find a mirror or Romano's dead where's a mirror where's a mirror I need a mirror where are you mirrors…_ I thought panickedly, opening and closing drawers as frantically (and quietly) as I could. There was nothing, only some medical files, some pens, paper, office supplies, meaningless shit that wouldn't help either of us in this situation. I could still hear Romano swearing up a storm in the hallway, so at least he was alive: but he wouldn't be for long unless I could find _some_ kind of mirror.

I finally acknowledged that there was no such thing in the desk, scanning over the top again in my hopes to find a reflective surface. There was nothing; some office toys, all useless, and a few more medical files and pens. I looked around desperately, hearing Romano's shouts take on a definite edge of panic. _Where's a goddamned mirror?!_

_There._

It was small, barely the size of my palm, and obviously meant for the sole purpose of checking makeup or mascara or whatever the fuck French doctors put on their face, but at this point, it looked like a major holy artifact, and I snatched it up without a second thought. At the very last second, I remembered to open the door slowly and peek out instead of barging right into the hallway, and was rewarded with the sight of Romano being slowly pushed into a corner by 2p!Canada, panting slightly and with a look of painful concentration on his face, clutching his left arm like it was broken. It certainly _looked_ like it was, and it only took me a split second of self-gathering before I ran down the hallway, brandishing the tiny mirror in my right hand.

2p!Canada heard me coming and whipped around, which was one of the reasons I hadn't thrown the little hand-mirror, the other being that I wasn't at all sure of my aim, and I most certainly didn't want to waste the only mirror we had found thus far on a badly-timed throw. I had just a few seconds to realize that his eyes were clear of blood and that the cut on his forehead had stopped bleeding before a wrecking ball of wood and plastic slammed into my side, and I was literally thrown across the hallway to smack against a far wall and slide down it, stunned and racked with coughing breaths. I felt something tear in my throat and blood fleck the inside of my mouth, and realized with cold horror that I had re-opened the wound in my neck.

2p!Canada lowered his hockey stick as he walked towards me, a sneer of satisfaction on his lips, and I tried to at least struggle upright into a sitting position, but the blow from the Canadian's weapon had all but broken my ribs, and sharp flares of pain around my side combined with my difficulty drawing breath meant that any kind of movement was all but impossible.

"Game's over, bitch." he chuckled, raising his hockey stick above his head as I whimpered and ducked my head in a desperate, vain effort to protect my vitals.

Three things happened in very quick succession.

2p!Canada suddenly lurched forward and hissed in pain, and I saw Romano's arm wrapped around his throat with the spunky Italian himself clinging to the 2p's back, his face contorted in a feral grimace of hatred and the largest shard of the broken mirror he had thrown buried in the other's back.

And I whipped my arm around, the hand hidden underneath my body finally regaining my grip on the mirror, the small plate of reflective glass smacking full-force into the 2p's knee.

We were both suddenly blown backwards by a soundless blast of light and heat that exploded from the towering Canadian, and when I raised my ringing head, he was gone, and the normal, peaceful, loveable, and in all ways _awesome_ Canada was there, stretched out on the floor and quite plainly knocked out cold.

"How'd ya guess what I was on about?" I rasped groggily, trying to raise myself up off the floor, then wincing and lowering myself again as Romano sat up abruptly, clutching his head.

"Ah… _dio, la mia testa fa male_." he muttered in Italian, rubbing his forehead a few times, then looking at me irritably. "It wasn't that hard, _krautlet_. How did you know that hitting him with two mirror sources would work?" he snapped off, and I laughed sheepishly.

"I didn't. I was just hoping that the really small one would work." I croaked, then winced and held my throat as Romano's amber eyes took on a glint of alarm and he hurriedly staggered to his feet.

"You should really, really should stop looking for trouble, _krautlet_." he muttered as he slung my arm over his shoulder and helped me to stand, a petulant scowl on his face.

I nodded groggily, all but putting my whole weight on his supporting arm and shoulders. "What're we gonna do about Canada?" I slurred, and he shrugged.

"I'll send the _stupido's_ brother up here to take care of him. For now, you should get some rest, and again, stay out of trouble."

"Sure thin' dude."

_Of course, the trouble has already been started, hasn't it?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-Posted: February 7th, 2020, 11.27 AM USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: August 6th, 2015, 3.52 PM USA Central Time


	51. In Which England Leaves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty then, Act 2 of my awesomely epic plotline is gonna be kicking into high gear any chapter now. Act 1 shall be officially finished with 2p!England's exorcism! What could possibly come after this awesomeness, you ask? Weeeell…If you've ever read the "Perchance to Dream", "Brave New World,", and "The World's Stage" series by Jennisms (and you really should, they're the best line of 2p stories I've read, and they're on my profile), then we're coming to the end of my version of "Brave New World". We're at the point where The Mummy suddenly got its sequel. We're at the point in Jaws where that one little kid goes out on his floaty and gets eaten by the shark. In other words, think it's safe for Arya and the others to go back in the water?
> 
> Think again.

_3rd Person POV:_

_"Again!?"_ Germany asked incredulously as Romano scowled at him and chewed on an apple, obviously irritated at having to talk to the German in the first place. The Italian shrugged and nodded, then took another bite of the apple and chewed noisily as Prussia approached them both, keeping to the far side of the magic circle Romania and Norway were constructing.

"What's ze problem, West?" he asked warily, and Germany sighed and nodded towards Romano.

"Apparently Arya was attacked by one of the other undergrounds."

_"Again?!"_

"Zat's what I said."

Germany sent a furtive glance at the half-completed pentacle and abundance of magical runes. "Maybe, after we complete the ritual and get England back, we should ask him to teach Frau Thompson magic." he suggested, and Japan ghosted up behind them.

"England is a _tsundere_ , which means he is likely to refuse at first." he pointed out quietly, and all three of the Europeans, having no idea of what "tsundere" meant, stared at him blankly. Japan closed his eyes in quiet woe at the lack of comprehension for his wonderful manga fanbase, then opened them again. "A person who is very harsh and rude on the outside, but has a caring heart on the inside. _Tsundere_ people also will deny any evidence of affection on a basis of pride." he explained, and Prussia snorted.

"Harsh and rude, yes. Denying affection, yes. Caring on the inside? Not a snowball's chance in hell." he said dismissively, and Japan shrugged. That was the definition of England as _he_ knew it.

"Anyway, it will probably take some persuading before he agrees, if he agrees at all." Japan continued, and the Europeans all nodded.

Norway looked up from the inscription rune he was painstakingly carving out. "If the lot of you don't intend to help, get out _now_." he growled, pausing in his movements and carefully placing the brush to the side. "It's hard enough when you're trying to out-magic and outsmart an expert enchanter, harder still when you're trying to throw him out of a body he both has ties to and has been in possession of for _months_ , but when you have a lot of gossiping nations around, it becomes impossible!" he added irritably, taking off his sailor hat and throwing it to the ground in frustration. Romania, already hatless and painstakingly drawing out the only remaining arch of the pentacle, looked up sympathetically.

"He's right, you know. We're working as fast and as accurately as we can, but this sort of permanent ritual takes time and precise concentration. It's best if you got out and stopped distracting us." he agreed, and the three Axis Powers cast annoyed –but accepting– glares at each other before filing out of England's basement, his home once again restored to its former proportions.

_***Time Skip***_

Everyone else, with the exception of Arya and her current bodyguards –Sweden and Hungary– was packed into the Anglo-Saxon's living room, sprawled across couches and sitting on tables, fingering weapons and casting anxious glances at the door down to the basement where England typically cast what few enchantments he performed in the modern age. The pentacle and all of the many runes inside had been finished, and after a quick, garbled argument in what seemed to be some kind of magic language, Romania and Norway had dragged a bound and gagged Oliver into the basement and locked the door, admonishing that, _no matter what_ , it was not to be opened unless one of them did so, even if every last 2p in existence stormed the building. The two magic-using nations maintaining their concentration was vital: if they slipped up, even once, they might well bind 2p!England to his partner's body, _permanently_.

For just such a reason, and much to her rather hoarse protests, Arya had been forcibly locked in with Hungary and Sweden at France's elegant mansion in Paris, with as much magic protection Norway and Romania could conjure up within twenty-four hours. No one in the room trusted the 2p!s not to use this moment to take control of their counterparts and take out the greatest threat to their plans, and right now, that "threat" was split equally between this magic ritual, which would completely free this world from their influence, or Aryana, who had already made some very bitter enemies and foiled some very important plans.

Thus, every nation and micronation was grouped together in this house, with the Nordics not occupied in magicking or bodyguarding making sure the excitable micronations were all asleep in the upstairs rooms, and thus, Arya was in the safest place possible for her.

The floor under their feet vibrated softly, and some of the nations swallowed and shivered as Romania's voice was made audible even through the thick walls and flooring, chanting out something with increasing desperation and cadence. Norway's voice joined his, and their combined incantations rose and fell for several minutes before the whole house shook subtly, a hollow roaring sound echoing from underneath the nation's feet as a glow briefly shone from the door and under the floorboards.

"Vee~, Germany, I'm scared!" Italy wailed, clinging to the bulky man's arm as Germany automatically patted him on the back comfortingly, his own face white and drawn. He looked to his brother Prussia, who was just as nervous-looking, and Romano, who was alternatively sobbing with fear and trying to hit Spain, who was cooing sweetly and rubbing his former ward's head, apparently unafraid. However, Germany spotted the tanner male's hand clenched tight around his favorite cross, and his smile showed far too many nervous teeth.

The others around the room showed similar signs of barely-held nervous tension and outright fear. France was one of the former, his hands white-knuckled on his wine glass and his normally cheerful smile tight and strained –America was one of the latter, clinging to Canada and loudly proclaiming his "hero" status in an increasingly hopeless effort to seem unafraid.

Germany sighed and squeezed Italy's shoulder again: nation personifications weren't inherently _afraid_ of anything, but powerful magic –quite rightly– made many of them nervous. It was one of the only things that could unmake them, after all, like any sensible person would be nervous around a loaded gun or a fully prepared chopping block. The circumstances tonight, however, was setting everyone off: possession, body-snatching, and evil alternate personalities, the stuff out of an occult nightmare, affecting those who were normally impervious to any such thing.

No wonder they were nervous.

More unearthly but muffled howling and thumps were heard, along with faint chanting from the basement, and the tension in the room –well, it didn't ease off, but as the familiar voices continued spellcasting with no apparent mishap, many of the nations felt that, perhaps, there was a significant chance that nothing untoward would happen. America still clung tightly to Canada (insisting it was for his "little bro's" protection, and not because he was _scared_ ), Italy still plastered himself to Germany, and Spain still tried coaxing Romano into a braver frame of mind, but the rest of the group slowly relaxed and began uneasy conversations, although they kept one eye on the door and one hand on their weapons at all times.

Finally, a soundless burst of light briefly outlined the door in a sharp white glow, which slowly faded to nothing as the voices in the basement instantly ceased.

All conversation broke off, and all eyes turned to the door as shaky steps ascended it. First out was Norway, whose normal deadpan expression was replaced by haggard weariness, and before anyone could ask any questions, he instantly went into the unused kitchen and turned on the faucet, seemingly sticking his whole head under the spout and trying to drink up every last drop, from the slurping sounds that soon emanated from the Brit's sink.

Romania was next, and he sprawled exhausted on a couch that Russia, Latvia, Ukraine, Belarus, and Spain had hurriedly vacated just a few seconds before his impact. The last set of footsteps ascended the stair, and all eyes again turned to the wooden door as it creaked open for the last time. A man stood there in a disheveled green army uniform, his golden blonde hair sweaty and clinging to his face. A weary smile suffixed his haggard face, and he inclined his head slightly.

"Hello again, chaps. Afraid things have gotten into something of a mess, haven't they?" the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland asked, his green eyes sparking with apologetic mirth.

__

_***Time Skip***_

Oliver hummed happily to himself, waking up, flat on his back and lying in a ditch, to the eternally depressing sight of his world's watery moon. Ooh, these people were so easy to manipulate. It was almost pathetically simple to manipulate little Miss Arya: she was so much one of Alfred's people, it made him want to laugh until he was sick. Naively noble, determined to do the "right thing", wanting to take down the big bad villain because it was her "duty", and, most critical for his purposes, so fixated on making things right that she forgot there was no such thing as a _happy ending_. He'd already laid the foundations for her: in a few weeks or months, maybe even years, they would bear fruit. It would quite depend on his other self, and he gave the tiny black space inside his mind a subtle prod, making sure the vague impulses he had implanted in his double's mind were still there.

Yes, indeed they were.

He sighed in contentment as he sat up, brushing off his sleeves. That little ritual Romania and Norway had enacted upon him would have been laughably easy to dismiss, but he didn't want them to know his true strength –quite yet. The reason Oliver Kirkland left no loose ends was also the reason _his_ version of Romania and Norway had no magic: it was possible, the more fool his double for not remembering, for one magician to steal the capability to wield magic from another magician, and add their power to his own, if they didn't have sufficient defenses and were caught off guard.

His Romania and Norway had both of those –unfortunate– disabilities, and thusly were quite easy to drain of power. A rather pleasant bonus of Oliver's brand of mage-theft was that all the power the magician would _ever_ command passed into his hands, making him the most powerful sorcerer in –well, the most powerful _he_ had ever heard of. It would have taken his double _and_ the two other members of that little "trio" to force him out of that body, and even then, they probably would have had a hard time of it. Oliver reflected that afterwards, when his plans could finally proceed uninterrupted, he'd probably gain a tidy bit of power if he drained his counterpart and the other two magician-nations of all their magical abilities as well.

It left the subjects little more than drooling husks, as his world's Norway and Romania could attest, but when he was done, _no one_ in the world of the counterparts would be unscathed, so what did it matter?

As he finished brushing all the incessant dust off his beautiful bright clothing, he stood up and whistled once, putting his hands on his hips and tapping a foot when it did not immediately display results.

His semi-displeased smile turned into a broad grin as several shadows melted out from the alleyway, approaching him swiftly. One of them bore a nail-embedded baseball bat over his shoulder: another had a hockey stick, and a third was lit by the distinctive glow of a cigarette. The fourth bore a meat cleaver with the signs of frequent use, and the fifth twirled a knife between his fingers.

Oliver smiled sweetly and clasped his hands behind his back as Allen, Matt, Francois, Wang Zao, and Luciano surrounded him.

"Now," he began happily. "Everyone knows the plan?"

All of them nodded, except for Allen, who scowled and tightened his grip on his bat.

"I still don't get why we have to lay low. That bitch is practically _gift-wrapped_ for us: all it would take is a few seconds when those bodyguards leave her alone-" he began in obvious frustration, but Oliver cut him off sharply.

" ** _No_**." Then his familiar sickly smile returned. "Not yet, at least. When I get my revenge on Aryana Thompson, trust me, all of you will be included. She will suffer until her last breath, and a good many before then." he promised them with obvious satisfaction, and the 2p!s growled eagerly. Oliver laid one finger beside his nose and winked.

"But for now, we wait."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-Posted: February 7th, 2020, 11.34 AM USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: August 8th, 2015, 8.05 AM USA Central Time


	52. In Which We Meet, Greet, and Shriek

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone was wondering about the last chapter, 2p!England had previously stolen all the magic powers and ability to wield magic powers from 2p!Romania and 2p!Norway, which is the reason their 2ps are insane, since stealing magic from someone is stealing a part of their soul. (Or at least, in my interpretation of Hetalia-magic, it is.) It's also the reason he's so much better at magic than the Magic Trio –he was already a powerful sorcerer to begin with, but then he stole the magic of two extremely powerful other nations, and is therefore…well, supercharged, I guess would be the best word. But don't worry; he totally gets his comeuppance later. And about Arya's knowledge of Hetalia; she hasn't seen the fourth season, since I hadn't either when I started writing this, and she doesn't know many of the characters who didn't show up in the anime –which is why she doesn't recognize Korea or some of the others on the spot.

_Arya's POV:_

Hetalians.

Hetalians everywhere.

After two World Meetings that had discussed my imminent almost-death, with serious faces all around and everyone acting like they were about to throw me to the not-so-metaphorical-wolves, this was like a fangirl's paradise. China was busy offering Japan and some of the Allies his Chinese treats, which they refused in favor of America leaping up on the table and loudly declaring something about growing jellyfish on trees so PB & J sandwiches could be grown instead of made, and England –somewhere buried in the crowd and reverted back to normal– was yelling at him for not doing any research and coming up with an absolutely ludicrous idea on purpose, just to waste time. France, Spain, and Prussia were all gathered in a corner, cooking up some kind of awful prank, no doubt, and the Axis were seated at the table, Italy humming to himself about pasta and Japan sensing the mood quietly, with Germany's face buried in one of his meaty hands and a vein throbbing in his temple. I sympathized.

I could only manage to catch glimpses of the other characters, since they were moving around so much and I wasn't the enthusiastic fan some people were, but I was content to just sit and let the Hetalia-ness flow over me. That is, until…

"YOUR BREASTS BELONG TO ME, DA-ZE!"

"WHAT THE HELL?!" I shouted as my chest was groped, sending my elbow backward in the hopes to smash in my assailant's nose, but, probably with the skill of long practice, the Asian-looking nation dodged my blow and circled around to face me, grinning innocently.

 _"YOU."_ I snarled, jabbing my finger in his face as he lost the grin and started to look alarmed. "Who the _hell_ are you?"

"That's South Korea: he does that to everyone, don't worry!" an energetic voice said at my elbow, and I turned around again as South Korea made his escape, looking up –and up.

_Holy shit, he's tall._

The Arabic-looking in a green parka and white mask was recognizable at least, and I awkwardly smiled and held out my hand to greet him. "Um…yeah, sure. I'm Arya, Aryana Thompson. You're Turkey, right?" I asked, and he grinned, taking my hand and shaking it vigorously.

"Yup! You're friends with my buddy Japan, right?" he asked, suddenly lowering his voice and leaning towards me. I nodded uncertainly, and he smiled. "Does he talk about me a lot, 'cause we're totally bestest buddies! Ignore whatever that guy over there tells you-" He pointed towards Greece, who was sleeping underneath a mound of cats. "We're total BFFs! In fact, you should avoid that guy just on principle! He's worse than South Korea!" Turkey added, totally unnecessarily, and I tried to bite back my laughter and nodded enthusiastically. He nodded at me, then went off, likely to pester Greece, and I was once again left alone.

"Ey! There she is!"

I squeaked and choked as I was suddenly swept up off the ground, and my ribs cracked and popped as someone squeezed me in what I was coming to refer as a "Country Hug of Doom".

Just before stars started to sparkle in front of my eyes, I was dropped, and I turned to come face-to-face with an energetic man with spiky hair. He was dressed in a long black coat with a red undershirt, and a small black hat rested on his wild blond hair. Judging by the accent when he had shouted across the room, he was one of the Nordics –my assumption was confirmed when I saw Finland, Sweden, and someone who I thought to be Iceland approach us. It was still a bit hard to place the guy in front of me, but since I already knew Finland, Sweden, Iceland, and Norway, and there were five Nordics, that would make him…

"Denmark?"

He grinned. "Yup, that's me! And you're Arya, the human who kicked some serious anti-country ass!" he all but shouted, giving me a slap on the back as I skidded forward a few steps and wheezed.

 _Oh god, my ribcage can't stand up to these freaks much longer. Just a few more of these "hugs" and my chest is gonna cave in like the Titanic's hull._ I thought, bracing my hands on my knees and trying not to fall over.

"You okay?" Denmark asked in surprise, and I held up my hand, wheezing a few times, before taking in a slow breath of air and standing up straight once more.

"Yeah…sorry." I croaked, and Norway appeared out of nowhere and grabbed Denmark by his tie, jerking it upward and cutting off the taller man's oxygen flow as Denmark choked and began to thrash around. I looked at the other Nordics, nonplussed that they did nothing while Denmark continued to slowly asphyxiate. Finland held his hands up with a smile.

"It happens like all the time, don't be the worrying." he assured me with his happy Santa-grin, and I nodded uncertainly.

A shadow fell over me, and I jumped, looking up –again– to see Sweden towering over me.

 _He doesn't mean to look scary he doesn't mean to look scary he doesn't mean to look scary-_ I thought over and over again as I nervously smiled up at him, a smile which he did not return. Just as I was getting ready to abandon all pretenses of dignity and run, his hand descended on my head heavily and –scruffed at my hair.

"N'ce t' s' y'r al'rght." Sweden mumbled, taking his hand off and going back to stand by Finland, who looked just as baffled as I felt.

"Uh…sure dude." I replied belatedly, still somewhat confused to what he said in the first place. I backed away slowly as Finland drifted into a conversation with Lithuania, who kept trailing off and staring up at Sweden, who had followed behind his "wife".

Suddenly my back hit something soft and bouncy, and I whipped around, then jerked backwards, my cheeks red. Ukraine blinked at me in a somewhat harried fashion, then smiled. "Ah, hello there. You are Arya, yes?" she asked, and I smiled awkwardly.

"Uh, yeah, that's me."

I refrained from saying _"Who **else** could I be?"_, because for all I knew there was a country that looked something like me. It was doubtful, but then again, so was becoming immersed an anime world, and then having the alternate fan-created dimension of that world attempt to take the anime over.

Ukraine was saying something else, and I hurriedly tried to pay attention.

"…and it was so kind of you to have a little drink with my brother, he gets so lonely sometimes." she was saying happily, and I smiled at her more naturally, trying not to stare at her chest. I was straight as hell…but it was kinda impossible to have Ukraine in your sights and _not_ be looking at her chest.

At least she wasn't like her younger sister and attempting to decapitate me for trying to make Russia a little less forever alone.

Anyway, as Ukraine bounced off to speak to aforementioned sister, I glanced at my watch and saw that all this meaningless babble had been going on for about a minute.

_Which means that any second now…_

_"ZAT IS ENOUGH!"_

Sure enough, as Germany yelled loud enough to make the ceiling rumble and the chairs around the table rattle and dance, instant quiet descended. He slammed his palm down on the table irritably. "I know you are all very excited about ze criminal nations disappearing, but unless we make plans to _keep_ them from returning, there ist no time to celebrate, and absolutely no reason to be acting like a bunch of foolish nincompoops! Now, if anyone has any _relevant_ suggestions, please share them now!" he barked as all the nations still standing took a seat, and Japan raised his hand, his fingers crossed.

"I have a request for England." he began calmly, and the scruffy-haired blond stood up, folding his arms grumpily.

"What?" England snapped as I snuck into my seat, midway between Prussia and another country I didn't know.

Japan glanced around, before his eyes landed on me and he looked back at England. "I would rike to suggest taking Aryana-san as your apprentice in magic. She seems to be the main target of ze undergrounds, it wourd be best for her to be prepared for any eventuality." he said, and my jaw dropped as England looked surprised and rather peeved.

"Eh?! What the bloody hell do you mean by that!?" he spluttered, and Prussia snickered from beside me.

"He means taking you on as his apprentice, zat's what." he muttered, nudging me with his elbow as I tried to bite back a smile.

England continued spluttering at Japan, but Germany cut him off. "England, zis is ze best plan we have so far. How long would it normally take for you to find ze right spell?" he pointed out, and England bit his lip, not answering.

He didn't remain silent for long, though.

"Alright, so it does make sense. But I absolutely refuse to take anyone from the country of that air-headed buffoon-" Here he pointed to America, who looked offended. "- _and_ one so _young_ , as an apprentice in the serious art of magic!"

_Ouch._

That one had gone too far: I stood up as well, jabbing my finger at the startled Brit. "Well, I sure as hell don't want to learn magic from a pompous, egotistical, prejudiced bastard like you! Just because I'm American doesn't mean I'm stupid, and I could always learn from Romania or Norway!" I shouted back, and he looked incensed.

 _"Pompous?!_ Listen well, you little brat, I'm the Great United Kingdom of Britain and Northern Ireland, and I refuse to be talked down to by a human less than a fraction of my age!" he screamed back, slamming his hands on the table.

I could feel the awkward auras of everyone around me as they tried to distance themselves from the table and argument thereon, but still remain present at the meeting. Prussia, however, was bent double at my side and choking out _"you tell him, fraulien"_ between muffled bouts of hysterical laughter, and Romano was probably in the same state.

I was beginning to see crimson, and stabbed my finger at the red-faced Britain. "May I remind you that this "little brat" saved your ungrateful ass from Oliver and the other criminal nations?! You _owe_ me!" I yelled across the table, feeling my healing throat throb in warning as a host of tick marks grew across Britain's head.

"I don't _owe_ you anything, least of all an apprenticeship! And besides, even if I did accept you as my mage-apprentice, as your master you'd have to show me _respect!"_ he barked, throwing one of those dumb little paper cups at me. I caught and crushed it, balling it up and throwing it right back at him as Prussia convulsed with silent laughter beside me.

"You know what, _fuck you!"_ I shouted back, so angry I was at a loss for anything worse to say.

"Watch your mouth! I'm the bloody United Kingdom, show some respect!" Britain yelled and threw it right back, but was so furious that he missed by a mile and the little paper ball flew over Prussia's left shoulder.

"Hah! You throw like Italy!" I sneered as flames of pure hatred erupted around England for a split second.

Evil auras were flaring out around us, and we looked ready to come to blows as France suddenly stood up, grinning. "My friends, I 'ave a solution!" he trilled, and we both glared at him.

"WHAT?!"

France steepled his fingers, smirking at the both of us. _"Angleterre_ , you told zis lovely young woman to respect you, _oui?"_ he asked, and I felt a trace of unease at his sly expression. England caught it too, and looked at his long-time frienemy with caution.

"Yes, I bloody well did!" he said nonetheless, too caught up in his anger to be wary, and France laughed his "Ohonhonhonhon", making me gulp.

"Well, you did say she'd need to do zat if she became your apprentice. Well done, you've accepted ze job!" he crowed, spreading his arms as if to embrace us, and I choked as England began to splutter, his face red.

"What- no, I most certainly- it was metaphorical- I didn't mean that- OH YOU BLOODY FROG!" he snarled, picking up another paper cup and chucking it at the Frenchman. Perhaps due to his anger, he missed by a mile (again), and France laughed triumphantly.

"Ohonhonhon, you really do throw like Italy." the other blond said cheerfully, and I thought England might spontaneously combust, he was so angry. He was certainly smoking enough.

Germany stood up and coughed uncertainly. "Well, um, I suppose zat concludes business for now. Now everyone, remember to keep your guard up, und try not to wander out alone. Meeting adjourned!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-Posted: February 7th, 2020, 12.25 PM USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: August 11th, 2015, 10.21 AM USA Central Time


	53. In Which the US is versus the UK

_Arya's POV:_

I figured it was best to remain silent, given as England was silently fuming in the driver's seat, angry enough that he was literally _steaming_ in true anime-fashion.

 _So this is what it feels like to deal with a hard-core tsundere._ I thought contemplatively, wrapping my arms tighter around my apocalypse bag in my lap as I sighed wearily. It was slightly bulkier now, as I had gone shopping with the Axis a couple times in between running around and trying to kill/avoid being killed by the 2p!s.

England was muttering under his breath now, something along the lines of _"stupid Frenchy frog"_ and _"bratty American teenager"_ , hanging a savage right as we began traveling down a familiar country road. I, rather wisely, did not respond, and remained silent out of principle, since I didn't want to piss off (even more) the guy who would be responsible for sending me back home.

I paled slightly as I realized, as his apprentice, I would not only have to endure his foul temper, but his cooking as well, which was a whole 'nother kettle of fish. (Pardon the pun.)

Now, don't get me wrong, I didn't have a problem with _normal_ British cooking (My mom had gone to England for a business trip when I was 13 and brought back some stuff), at least not the British cooking from my world. It wasn't all that different from what I ate at home. But the cooking that England _himself_ made was another matter entirely: I foresaw either a lot of food poisoning or takeout in my near future.

 _But then again, it'd probably offend him even more if I refused to eat what he called cooking._ I thought, a gloom cloud descending over me, before brightening. _Besides, some small details have been different than what the anime and fanbase describe. His food might actually be edible._ I thought with a slight smile, then my forehead thunked onto my bag as I let out a depressed whine.

 _And all the 2p!s might start sending me love notes and raising baby kittens…_

"What the bloody hell's wrong with you now?!" England suddenly barked, another burst of steam escaping from him as I hurriedly rolled down the window so I wouldn't smother.

"Its, um, it's nothing." I said quickly, feeling that it would be best not to say I was worried about whether or not I would die via English food poisoning. He gave me a sharp glare from out of his hard green eyes.

"Let's get one thing straight Miss _Aryana_ , I will not tolerate you word-mincing or dodging subjects as long as you live under my roof. If something is wrong, _inform me of that fact_." England said icily, then sighed and looked away, tapping a finger against the wheel as he continued with a scowl. "Whether I like it or not, you are now my responsibility, so I suggest you get used to that fact. You are to be staying under my roof, eating my food-"

_IknewitshitfuckI'mgonnadiewhyIdon'twanttodiefromEnglishfoodpoisoning-_

"-and learning my arcane knowledge: therefore you must respect me and my rules."

I gulped and looked at him as he finished: there was gonna be _rules_ involved with this? Like the rules an asshole aunt or grandparent made up when you came to visit?

He caught the incredulous look and snorted. "What, you thought that I would let you run around willy-nilly like those irresponsible Axis?" he asked stiffly, seemingly in a –slightly– better mood now that he had insulted someone, and I refrained from pointing out that the "irresponsible Axis" had played a rather large role in getting him back in his original body. It seemed like I was going to have to be doing a lot of tongue-biting in the near-far future.

"Um, so, what rules are there?" I asked nervously, and he pursed his lips in thought, seemingly further mollified by my quiet demeanor.

"Well, for one, you will address me as Britain or Sir. You are not to touch or meddle with any magical or nonmagical objects in the basement where we will be conducting lessons-"

_So he's gonna treat me like a three-year-old…asshole rules it is then._

"-do not leave the house without permission, do not complain about the food you are given-"

_ShitfucknotthefoodagaingodalmightyI'mgonnadieavirgin-_

"-bedtime is at 21.00, which in American hours-" Here he sniffed disdainfully. "-would be about 9.00, give or take. Lights out at 22.00, which means no electronics, no music, no entertainment or occupying objects of any kind. I will wake you up at 8.00 sharp, no excuses. If you're tired, then you're going to be bloody tired. You'll have an hour to prepare yourself for the day, meeting me downstairs for breakfast. Any questions?" he rattled off briskly, and I felt sorely tempted to ask _"Can I have takeout for breakfast, lunch, and dinner?"_ , but I felt that saying something like that might be hazardous to my health.

_Although maybe not quite as hazardous as actually eating the damn food…_

"Miss Thompson? I would appreciate it if you gave me an answer." Britain said sharply, and I hurriedly brought my train of thought to a screeching halt.

"I, um, I'm good." I hurriedly stammered, then squeezed my bag tighter. "So…awkward question, but about America…you holdin' a grudge or something?" I asked hesitantly, figuring that since I was gonna be living with the guy for the foreseeable future, I might as well figure out whether or not he was calling America and all his citizens fools and incompetents because the bespectacled blond acted so _much_ like an idiot, or because the grouchy Brit just held a mega-grudge against his former colony.

Britain's fingers tightened hard enough on the wheel to cause it to bend and creak slightly, and he remained silent for a split second as the car rolled into his driveway. "No." he finally said through teeth that squeaked and cracked with anger, and I quickly unbuckled myself and pushed the door open.

"You're a terrible liar, FYI." I told him bluntly as I levered myself out, and I had just enough time to catch his angrily crimson visage before I had turned to face the building in which I would be residing for the next few weeks/months/hopefully-not-years.

My fingers tightened slightly on the bag, and I took in a few deep breathes as I stared up at the old, almost-mansion almost-house that Britain called home. I was trying very hard not to go into a lame and completely undignified episode of PTSD, but my knees felt decidedly trembly, and I wasn't altogether sure I could keep my lunch where it was supposed to be.

_Mirrors. Mirrors everywhere._

_…Oliver sitting on a delicate garden chair, with a small tea table at his elbow. A pot of tea and a tray of cupcakes sat upon it, and he was just taking a sip of something suspicously crimson colored…_

_…2p Romano's eyes, hidden behind their fuchsia glasses, gleamed predatorily as he flexed his hands and I began to back away. "Come here bambina. I would really rather get this done quickly so that I may go back to my home~" he cooed…_

_-I ducked under the ghostly swipe of 2p China's butcher knife. His blood-red eyes met mine as I skidded across the mirrored ground like a baseball player sliding for home, and there was nothing but hatred there-_

"MISS THOMPSON!"

I screamed and jumped about six or seven feet in the air, panting hard as my bag slipped out of my hands and landed on the ground, my hands shaking as I looked everywhere at once, my nerves galvanized into a fight-or-flight response, leaning towards flight.

Britain stared at me for a few seconds, his angry expression rapidly becoming somewhat guilty as his eyes darted from me to his house, obviously making the connection. He coughed to hide it, then bent down and retrieved my bag from the muddy English earth, holding it out to me impatiently. "Here." he snapped as I quickly took it, his face flushed slightly in embarrassment. "As I was saying before you went into your little episode, you'll be sleeping on the same hallway as myself, just in case of mishaps. Any questions?"

I smiled queasily. "Nah…I'm good."

"You know, you're not much better at lying than I am."

"Shut up."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-Posted: February 7th, 2020, 12.30 PM USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: August 19th, 2015, 9.12 PM USA Central Time


	54. In Which We Call Pax

_Arya's POV:_

After Britain ushered me into the house and gave me a tour of its layout so I _"wouldn't go into another American space-out and get lost"_ , then left me in my room to unpack. It was –luckily– not one of the rooms/hallways I had stumbled across when running from the 2p!s, and, if I had to be brutally honest, not as off-the-chain-awesome as my room in Italy.

Sure, it was pretty freaking cool, but still, I was kinda missing all the warm sun and artistry of Italy's house. The whole room was paneled in dark brown mahogany, with the floors a much smoother and sounder wood than what Italy had. Probably because England was a bit more careful about his house maintenance.

The bed was still a hell of a lot bigger than the one I had in Virginia –it had to be, it was a goddamn four-poster right out of a Victorian novel. The curtains were dark green, and the bed itself had plain white sheets and some pillows with dark green embroidery. There was a dresser-drawer for my clothes –no walk-in closet anymore, sadness– with an oval frame for what had probably once been a mirror, obviously now removed. There was also a wardrobe pushed up against another wall (did he expect me to go to Narnia or something?), and a nightstand with a lamp on it by the four-poster.

All in all, pretty swanky.

I had already unpacked the clothes I had bought here in _Hetalia_ (including some very trendy outfits, courtesy of the Italian brothers and their fashionable cities), but not the ones that had already been in my apocalypse bag, including my now rather-dirty combat pajamas. That bag had come in handy many times over the past few months (had it really only been a few months?), including the battered journal I had hidden in one of the inside pockets. I cracked it open now and settled back against the pillows.

> `September 14, "Hetalia" Reckoning`

(I had given up on keeping track via days, now I was just doing it by the normal calendar)

> `(Song) Quote for the Day:`
> 
> `"Hey hey daddy, give me some rum, hey hey mummy, hey hey mummy, I can't forget the taste of that pudding I ate before!" –(Song)`
> 
> `Weeeell…today was interesting. I met England "formally" for the first time, and boy, was there a lot of shouting involved. My throat still hurts. I mean, I know the guy is a tsundere, so he doesn't really mean to say mean things, but as far as I could tell today, he's still a total asshole. Anal retentive, hot-tempered, grumpy, a horribly cook, bad liar, and strict too.`
> 
> `God forbid he ever reads this, I'd be dead meat.`
> 
> `Anyway, my wish list is being completed as I write. It's sort of backhanded, since although I have more or less learned fluent German and very basic Italian, Japanese is still a complete mystery, and I've gotten in pretty good shape, but with all the shit I've been doing, my body's been getting a lot of scars, especially on my shoulders and arms. I haven't really done anything for actual, physical combat training other than the get in shape stuff, and I'm not sure what Britain will be teaching me as far as magic is concerned. I mean, Prussia's been teachin' me a few things about sword fighting, but I really haven't progressed beyond "how to hold the blade and not fall over", which, as I've recorded before, is a hell of a lot harder than it looks.`
> 
> `I can ask Britain about combat training too, I mean, he is the land of knights and so on. Not that sword training is really useful for anything but vampire hunting, at least, as far as the Hellsing universe goes, but ya never know. `
> 
> `Well, actually… in Soul Eater people still use swords. And in Kuroshitsuji, but those are fencing swords, which are way different than those goddamn monoliths Prussia says are swords.`
> 
> `But anyway, I could probably just ask Britain to teach me how to fight with just about anything, since he's been around for like forever, and knows how to fight with guns and swords and bombs and whatever the hell else has been invented between his creation and now. I mean, he is a pretty old-`

"Miss Thompson?"

I squeaked and slammed the book shut, regardless of smearing the ink, my face slightly red. I did _not_ want to be caught talking shit about the guy to his face, no matter how much of an asshole he was. I then looked up to see Britain leaning against the door, an odd look on his face. It took me a second to place the look as midway between "pissed-off" and "apologetic", something which only a _tsundere_ seemed to be able to pull off without looking like he was having a stroke, and licked my lips nervously.

"Um, yeah?" I asked, and Britain cleared his throat awkwardly as he inserted a finger in his collar and tugged, loosening his tie.

"I am aware that our relationship got off on the wrong foot…I assure you, it was not my intention to offend you." he began stiffly, and by now I was feeling awkward.

"Well, um, same here. I didn't mean to blow up atcha, but you were being kinda…mean." I said slowly, groping for a word that was less offensive than "stereotyping asshole".

Britain shifted again, fidgeting with the buttons on his uniform, retightening his tie, and just displaying blatant delaying tactics in general. "Yes, well, we both were in the wrong then. I would like to hope that our time together will _not_ be a constant struggle for common ground, so, without further ado…"

Here he held out his hand, and I hurriedly scooted off the bed and walked over, hesitating for a moment before taking his hand. England looked me in the eyes and gave me a smile that looked like it hurt his teeth, shaking my hand firmly. "Hello there, I'm the kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland." he rattled off formally, and I tried to smile back, returning the handshake.

"Aryana Thompson." I returned, feeling _unbelievably_ awkward as his hand squeezed mine firmly and he then let go, backing away and then standing on one leg, looking equally unbalanced.

I tried to find something, anything, to break the silence that descended around us, but Britain beat me to it, his face tinged slightly red as he all but shouted the words.

"It's time for dinner anyways, so don't think I walked all the way up here just to apologize to you! I just don't want to have another shouting match over my food, so I decided to acknowledge your absolutely ridiculous position!" he blurted, and I grew an exasperated tick mark.

_Fucking tsundere._

Then something occurred to me, and I paled. "Um, wait, so, dude…did you…cook?" I asked tremulously, and his poisonous green eyes glared at me from underneath those bushy monstrosities called eyebrows.

"Yes I bloody did! As if I'm about to force a guest, even a loudmouthed American brat like you, to cook for me! I'll have you know I'm a much better host than those Axis wankers!" he spat furiously, and I gulped.

"Well, um, I a-appreciate the gesture…" I managed to stammer out, wondering frantically if I could find some excuse to _not_ eat whatever he would put in front of me without offending the touchy Brit even more. I think I had figured him out by now: he wasn't like Italy, who was bubbly and happy, or Prussia, who was a bit of a goof but an extremely loyal friend.

Being a _tsundere_ , Britain was, to put it simply, a gentleman bastard. He'd do his noble best to remain formal and polite around people he hadn't already formed a grudge against, but if you lit his _extremely_ short fuse, he'd blow up like a volcano, and he'd hold that grudge until the end of time. But he also probably got lonely, just like everybody else, which is probably the main reason he apologized to me, aside from his guilt…because stereotyping someone and then yelling at them when they tried to deny it wasn't very gentlemanly at all.

I tried not to look apprehensive as I put my journal back in my apocalypse bag and stood again, walking over to him. "So, like, lead the way dude." I said apprehensively, and he gave me a withering glare.

"…I have _got_ to improve your grammar. I can't have you butchering the English language in my home, young lady." Britain said stuffily, and I nodded absently.

"Yeah, sure thing. Whatever." I mumbled, looking with interest at all the paintings he had hanging on his walls. Was it a country thing to collect just about every work of famous art their citizens ever made?

_Probably._

He dragged me into the kitchen, where I looked apprehensively at the two plates of…something lying out on the counter. Britain took one plate and sat down at the nearby table, and I took the other, sitting across from him self-consciously.

I stared at my plate for a few seconds, trying to work up my nerve, before looking up at my "mentor". Britain was eating his…food…with obvious enthusiasm or obvious tastelessness –I honestly couldn't tell which– and I tentatively poked the sludge-colored mass on my plate with my fork. I scooped up a little bit with the metal implement, sent a prayer to god, and shoved it in my mouth.

 _This is…actually not that bad…_ I thought eventually, trying to ignore the fact the food had the consistency of oatmeal and was way too spicy. Not to mention it had weird lumps. And I think I bit down on something with a lot of small bones and/or a hard outer shell.

"Hey…Britain?" I eventually managed to choke out, and he looked up from his plate.

"Yes?" he asked briskly, and I groped for the glass of water at my side, taking in a deep gulp before answering.

"I get that you're trying to be hospitable n' all…but can I please make breakfast tomorrow? I've been doing it a while, an' I like to have my routines, ya know?" I pleaded, and he pursed his lips.

"Well…" he began hesitantly, and I frantically cast my mind around, then hit upon the perfect solution.

"I'll teach you how to make some really good pancakes. It's something my family's good at, and, although this is kinda good-" _And I'm Mickey fucking Mouse._ "-pretty much _everyone_ says your cooking's shit, fans included."

"THEY SAY _WHAT?!"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-Posted: February 7th, 2020, 12.38 PM USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: August 26th, 2015, 9.57 PM USA Central Time


	55. In Which Art Class is in Session

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess I should probably warn you, all the magical theory and practice in this fic is going to be either completely bullshit, stolen/borrowed from other fandoms, or my own maniacal theories. So, boys and girls, don't try this at home (not that you would). 
> 
> After all, I'd feel so guilty if one of my fans accidentally summoned Cthulhu or something because they were trying to emulate the fic…and the rest of the world probably wouldn't thank you, either.

_Arya's POV:_

After another brief shouting match with Britain over the (in)edibility of his food, he finally dragged me down the hall and to a rather imposing wooden door about two sizes larger than any of the others I had seen in his house.

Britain spun around to face me, a peeved look on his face. "Alright Miss Thompson, I am, _regretfully_ , going to start your lessons now. What do you think this door is for?" he asked briskly, jabbing a thumb at it as I raised an eyebrow.

"It leads to your magic basement of magic-ness, right?" I asked blandly, shrugging, as he blinked once.

"Ah. I forgot…you have seen this cartoon… _Hetalia_ , wasn't it?" he said, his lip visibly curling at the word "Hetalia". Probably because he didn't like the idea of being a cartoon or something like that.

"How much _did_ it show about me and my magic?" Britain suddenly asked after a slightly long pause, looking visibly curious, and I frowned, trying to remember. It had been such a long time since I had seen the show from the outside and not the inside.

"Um, one time when you shrank France because of this weird April Fools joke, and summoned some kind of scary elf thing to scare America for a Halloween contest, and another time when America pissed you off and you tried to summon a demon or curse him or something, but you ended up with Russia instead." I said slowly, then rubbed my arm and added "I haven't seen the fourth season though, so it might have more on your magic there."

Britain turned a bright red, seemingly disregarding the rest of my sentence. "T-that was bollocks! It's not my fault he showed up!" he spluttered, abandoning all gentlemanly rhetoric for humiliated denial. "I mean, I was looking for something, and he was the scariest there was! I m- _meant_ to summon Russia!" he tried to cover, still beet-red, and I shrugged.

"Whatever dude. I just hope you don't pull the same mistake with me." I told him calmly, and he tugged on the edges of his suit, regaining his equilibrium.

"Yes, well, I'm a bit more prepared nowadays. Come along now." he ordered, pushing the door open and grabbing a… _candelabra?!_ Yes! The old-fashioned bastard actually grabbed a candlestick from a niche by the door!

And it was already lit, too. Eerie.

I followed Britain down some extremely dark, damp steps. From the way his boots and my shoes clicked against them, I assumed they were stone, and after a while –longer than I expected, it must have been about two or three floors– we came to another set of doors. Britain pushed them open, then walked confidently into a surprisingly-spacious room, lighting candles that sat atop a large red cabinet, then lighting a smaller pair fixed just above the handles. With the cellar now better lit, I looked around curiously.

There were some very large vases and jars against the wall opposite the cabinet, as well as a golden statue of some kind of knight, some old spears all carelessly leaned against said knight, and all of the stone walls had some very long, thin, intricate –and medieval-looking– tapestries covering them. In a nook by the staircase door were three or four very large bookshelves, packed to the brim with books both old and new. Wooden crates and boxes were littered all around the margin of one of the other walls, and there was a large standing mirror in one corner, framed with what looked like gold.

I kept my eyes on it as Britain opened the doors to the cabinet with a flourish. "Um, Britain, sir? Are you sure it's a good idea to have a mirror down here?" I asked as he began rummaging through the contents, and he leaned backwards, looking around the door to the aforementioned mirror.

"What, that old thing? It's a mirror I enchanted specifically for myself, I'd know if that blasted git double of mine were to mess around with it. And besides, they're all banished to that foul dimension they call home. We're fine." he said dismissively, leaning back into the cabinet. While his back was turned, I gave the mirror another deeply suspicious glance.

"Can I just turn it to face the other way or something?"

"Most certainly not." came the muffled reply from inside the cabinet. "I worked hard to make that thing clairvoyant: I don't need you mucking around with it or, worse still, breaking it."

He leaned back out of the cabinet, proudly brandishing –what appeared to be– a large mass of black fabric.

I stared at him for a moment as he approached me. "Um…Britain, not to disrespect, but what the hell is that for?" I asked, pointing to his burden, and he raised one of his truly impressive eyebrows at me.

"A magician needs a cloak." the older blond said flatly, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, and chucked the fabric at me. I caught it easily –the cape was heavier than it looked though, I wondered what it was made of– and gave Britain another suspicious glance.

"This isn't some ploy to make me look stupid or something?" I asked him warily, even though he had already thrown his own cloak around his shoulders with the ease of apparent practice. He gave me a particularly poisonous glare. "Yes, its bloody necessary. Just put it on, and I'll explain the basic theories of magic." he said stiffly, and I quickly swung the black mass of fabric over my shoulders.

It was harder than it looked.

I fussed with the fabric for several seconds, my face getting redder and redder with embarrassment, trying to find the button(s) and get the damned thing to wear right, when Britain suddenly stepped forward and, with a few tugs, got the cloak settled in place, a distant look on his face as he avoided my eyes, as if he was remembering something else.

He stepped back again before I could ask, coughed into his fist, and was once more all formality. "Right, well, I'd best start. The reason that you, as my apprentice, are required to wear a cloak is quite simple." he began, obviously quite familiar with what he was explaining. "The creatures a magician tends to summon are not of this world: as such their knowledge of it can sometimes be dated, or jaundiced towards a certain culture or fashion. Wearing a cloak serves to identify oneself as the _summoner_ to the _summonee_ , as magicians have been wearing them time out of mind. It serves as a stamp, or a badge of office, if you will. Understand?" he asked sharply, opening his emerald green eyes as I nodded quickly. So far, it was pretty simple.

Britain's mouth twitched slightly, as if he had almost smiled, despite his best efforts. "Well then. Let's get started, shall we? Come come."

He turned around sharply, his cloak flaring dramatically as he did, and I followed behind.

"Um, can I ask you something?" I said hesitantly as he went over to the cabinet again, pulling out what looked like an artist's drawing kit.

"Yes?" he asked briskly but absently as he began to lay out calligraphy brushes, chalk, and what looked like small vials of ink.

"Your double had magic sigils all over his house. Did he need to use magic to activate them, or what? Cause I sure as hell never saw him in a cloak." I said petulantly, and Britain pursed his lips.

"Well, in all technicality, to actually, physically, _perform_ magic doesn't require anything more than a sigil and the user's will. However, proper magicians find themselves summoning and interacting with magical creatures quite often –I wear the cloak whenever I perform magic, in case of just such an event. For instance, if you summoned a demon or another dangerous magical entity by accident, and needed it to recognize your authority as a magician, would you feel comfortable leaving your area of safety to go fetch your cloak?" he pointed out shrewdly, and I blinked twice, then gulped.

"Ah…I gotcha. We're not gonna be summoning any demons, are we?" I asked nervously, and he chuckled and shook his head.

"No, no. I won't inflict that on you quite yet."

"Good."

Britain stood up, motioning me to stay where I was as he quickly walked around me with one of the calligraphy brushes, drawing out what I quickly recognized as a pentacle in the middle of the basement floor. "Right, you recognize this?" he asked as he straightened up again, and I shrugged.

"Yeah, 's a pentacle. Like they have in all those supernatural movies." I said shortly, and Britain frowned.

"I make it a point not to watch that rubbish." he said with a superior sniff, and I tried desperately hard not to roll my eyes.

"So, pentacle. It's a magic symbol." I tried again, and he shrugged and made a "so-so" motion with one hand.

"Yes and no. A pentacle is simply a focus –a magnifying glass, if you will. This is the most basic of magical symbols, and one you're going to have to practice drawing perfectly, by hand." Here I gave a small whine, and he glared at me sharply. "Focus, Miss Thompson. Using a pentacle, you can draw power out of and focus upon just about anything. For instance, if I were to shoot you in the leg –which I am sorely tempted to do right now– you could draw a pentacle on the floor beneath yourself, refocus the energy flow around your leg, and heal the wound. Savvy?" Britain rattled off, tapping one foot impatiently, and I gulped.

"Sir yes sir."

He sighed impatiently. "Right. Well, after drawing a pentacle, a truly skilled magician can do just about anything by filling it with certain runes and/or magic spells. You won't be on that level for quite some time." he added as if by afterthought, and I glowered at him for a second as he continued, lost in his lecture. "Think of the pentacle on its own as a magnet –it attracts and manipulates any unattached power within a certain radius, the range of which is decided by the magician's skill level, power, and intent. For instance, you are untutored, inexperienced, and, from what I can tell, not particularly powerful. If you drew a pentacle and attempted to draw in magic, you could only do so from a limited radius, and you would leave leftover evidence for any magicians in the area, which, as you know from dealing with my double, is not a good thing."

 _Fuck no, it's not._ "Yes, sir."

"I, however, can draw in power from quite a large radius, and I can erase any traces left behind. Now, even though you won't progress this far for a while-" Here he actually opened his eyes and received the glare I was giving him, returning it full force. "I suppose I should explain the rest of the theory to you, otherwise you'll continually pester me with trivial questions." he ground out, then took a deep breath through his nose as I realized something interesting, raising my eyebrows.

 _He's actually enjoying this. Not just calling me a brat and talking down to me, but teaching me magic. He's enjoying explaining his art to the fullest._ I thought as Britain opened his mouth again, hurriedly paying attention.

"While a plain, unaltered pentacle is nothing more than a focus, with the proper sigils, it can become a weapon, a shield, anything you want. There are many magical alphabets, but they are all, at the core, basically identical. Each symbol has a specific meaning, and, combined, they can become a specific spell."

He gestured to the books on the shelves behind me. "However, some –most– spells need verbal incantations to be properly activated. Think of it as a process and not a thing: creating a pentacle, filling it with the appropriate runes, and then chanting the appropriate incantation will result in a spell. Failure to properly etch out the pentacle, draw out the runes, or speak the incantation will result in one of three things; a misfire, nothing, or death."

I swallowed hard, and his emerald green eyes glinted at me in the light of the candles. "Playing around with the Dark Art isn't all pentacles and pixie dust, Miss Thompson. If you only attempt small rituals, small spells, you will receive _small_ consequences, _small_ problems. However, attempting any large rites will result in _large_ consequences, _large_ problems. If you muff up an attempt to dismiss a woodland pixie, she either won't go, be driven someplace other than what you intended, or be bound instead of dismissed. If you do the same with a member of the Wild Hunt, the results will be extremely messier. Am I understood?"

"Y-yes, sir."

"Good. Now we can _truly_ begin."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-Posted: February 7th, 2020, 1.37 PM USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: August 27th, 2015, 8.56 PM USA Central Time


	56. In Which We Meet New Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To any British people that may read this, I apologize for my abominable knowledge of British slang terms. I'm using them the best I can, and if I do something wrong, please let me know.

_Arya's POV:_

**BUZZ! BUZZ! BUZZ! BUZZ!**

**WHAM!**

"Mnnn…" I groaned, pulling the covers over my face as the alarm clock's incessant beeping ceased its infernal, unholy noise, my arm sliding back under the covers. My scrunched-up face relaxed and I began to slowly sink back into slumber, encased in warm cotton blankets and an even warmer pillow.

**Tap. Tap-rap.**

_God fucking damn it._ I thought with an even louder groan, and I heard Britain's muffled voice come from behind the solid oak of my door as he stopped his knocking.

"Miss Thompson, are you up?" he asked briskly, and I pulled the covers away from my face, glaring impotently at the innocent door and, more importantly, the person on the other side of it. I couldn't stop the yawn that interrupted the glare, though, knuckling the sleep from the corner of one eye.

" 'M up, 'm up…" I slurred, and I heard his footsteps move away.

"Good. Breakfast downstairs in 40 minutes."

That threat was enough to ensure me tumbling out of bed, my hair a tangled, fluffy mess that straggled down my shoulders and back. I raked the brush through it ruthlessly as shuffled to the bathroom and closing the door behind me: the paint was slightly discolored on a large, rectangular area directly over the sink, so I supposed that England had removed the bathroom mirror, too.

I quickly stripped off my combat pajamas and underwear, laying it all messily on the counter as I entered the shower and turned on the water. I stood under the hot spray for about five minutes, just slowly waking up, and eventually grabbed my shampoo and started to rub it in. I noticed with a mixture of pride and bashfulness as I did that I had really gotten my body toned out in the past few months. I would probably never be the hulking mass of flawless muscle that Russia and Germany were, but I wasn't a weak little nobody, either.

Now, _everybody_ has body image issues at least once in their mortal existence. It might be a bit of extra flab, too much hair here, too little hair there, not enough strength in this limb, so on and so forth. I was no exception. While I was tall, and my hair and eyes were more or less upper-side-of-average, my arms and back strong, I had always had a little extra bit of meat on my bones, and my legs were nothing special, either. In blunt terms, using an odd mix of both a little bit of egotism and a little bit of truth, I was like one of those models in all the magazines, just a few sizes chubbier.

That was then.

 _Now_ , however, with all those weeks of running for my very life, my legs had slimmed out until they were something I could be proud of, and the rest of my body had converted that thin layer of fat into pure energy for more running speed. Germany's training exercises had toned everything until I had a fair amount of muscle definition, although I wasn't nearly as buff as him, or even Prussia. In short, my body was now a lean, mean, fighting machine, and I was kinda proud of that, shallow of me though that was.

It did come at a price though. My skin was covered in white lines, scars abounding as water droplets trailed down my body. My shoulders were _covered_ in them, ranging from about the size and length of my middle finger all the way down to something that would barely qualify as a paper cut. The biggest was of course the not-even-fully-healed slash across my neck, but the slice on my left shoulder caused by Luciano at our first meeting came a close second, as well as the oddly placed scar in the small of my back caused by a shard of flying shrapnel from Prussia's and 2p!Italy's car crash. Similar, but smaller scars littered my body from the same, as well as a shorter but thicker one on my hip, where Luciano had thrown another knife at me.

More scars were traced all over the rest of my body, like thin wires burned onto my flesh, marking where 2p!America had mauled me with his bat. Most of the bruising had gone down, but I still had a few yellow-green marks splattered across my skin, and one or two faint blueish marks here and there.

I squinted my eyes shut and grimaced as the soapy water ran down my back and face, trying very hard not to think about, well…anything. The reason I was so tired and out-of-sorts was because Britain, after warning me about the possible repercussions of a failed magic ritual, proceeded to tell me about all the malicious spirits he knew about, and all the horrible things they had been known to do to unwary magicians.

In _great detail._

Now, I was of two minds about this. On one hand, Britain was not sheltering me at all and educating me on the very present, very dark side of magical lore. On the other…he was not sheltering me at all, and if I wasn't more than halfway sure that he wasn't _quite_ that petty, I would've said he had done it just to scare me. As things stood, I knew two things. One, he was educating me with a vengeance. Two, Britain was pulling no punches in his education.

Once I applied the same ritual with my conditioner, I hopped out of the shower and quickly toweled myself off, throwing on my underwear and tossing on the outfit I had gotten from Germany's place, which I usually used for working with stuff that'd get me dirty. Knowing Britain, I'd get around to heavy labor eventually.

With another few rakes of my hairbrush and quickly brushing my teeth, I was ready to face the day. And my teacher. And his breakfast. And his horrifying tales about the supernatural.

_You know, maybe I'll sleep in today._

I shook my head rapidly. _No no no no no. I argued with this guy, shouted my voice raw for this chance, and I listened to a bunch of the scariest shit ever for this apprenticeship. I am gonna goddamn see this through._ I thought stubbornly, squaring my shoulders and marching over to the door, throwing it open and walking with equal purpose down the long, somewhat creaky hallway. The smell of surprisingly edible breakfast food wafted down the hallway, and I paused for a second, then hesitantly opened the door. My eyebrows rose to their highest extent as I saw the steaming plates of not only recognizable, but delicious-looking bacon and eggs laid out on the table.

"Uhh…"

"Stop staring and sit down, you bloody brat."

I whipped around at the irritable sound of my teacher, seeing him busily washing his hands in the sink. "Did _you_ make breakfast…?" I asked in astonishment, and he angled his truly bushy brows at me in what I was coming to recognize as his most peeved look.

 _"No._ I did _not."_ he ground out through clenched teeth, quickly drying off his hands with irritated, jerky movements. I looked from him to the plates, confused.

"Then who…?" I wondered out loud, looking back at him as he walked around the counter and sat down, flourishing his knife and fork.

" 'Ello dearie!"

I jumped about six feet in the air, whipping around to see a friendly-looking old woman with dusky brown hair, who was holding a plate of English Muffins. "My name's Sarah, I work for Master Britain." she said cheerfully in some kind of British accent (different from the nation's), setting it down on the table.

"Do you like your breakfast dearie?" she added, and I blinked twice.

"I, um, haven't tried it yet." I stammered, and she frowned in a motherly fashion, shooing me to the table as Britain coughed and looked the other way, the corners of his lips tilting up in what was probably a smirk. I glared at him and sat down, tentatively nibbling on a corner of the bacon, then wolfing it down as Britain sent evil glare energy at me from across the table, probably for my lack of manners.

"So?" Mrs. Sarah asked with a smile as I came up for air, and I beamed at her.

"It's great!" I said eagerly, then flinched as Britain sent some especially evil vibes my way.

 _Shit, probably took that as an insult to his cooking._

I waited until she had bustled off before looking at Britain in confusion. "Is she a new hire-on or somethin'? Why didn't Oliver do anything to her?" I asked suspiciously, and he frowned, resting his cheek on one hand as he used his fork to illustrate.

"Mrs. Arterbury only works for me on an impermanent basis: really, only when I have guests such as yourself. My blasted counterpart wouldn't have had any access to her, and furthermore, like all my servants, she is on the payroll of the royal family. Even if he had been able to contact and kill her, he would have had to explain her disappearance to the Queen, in person, which even that blasted twit wouldn't have been able to get away with."

I shrugged. _Sound enough reasoning, and it's nice to know Oliver isn't omnipresent. That would suck for me._ I thought placidly, then continued devouring Mrs. Sarah's truly delicious breakfast.

"So, um, are we doin' any more of those horror stories, or what?" I asked as I finished up, and Britain took his plate to the counter. He gave me a frosty glare.

"Would it _kill_ you to speak properly?" he asked with icy correctness, and I shrugged and gave him my most winning smile.

" 'S correct by American standards, so it's good enough for me. What are we doin'?" I asked again, and he sighed heavily.

"Today I will be continuing your education on the supernatural creatures that populate this world and the next. Only this time, you will be learning about the… _lighter_ half of the equation." he said with a faint smile, and I all but threw my dishes into the sink and grabbed him by the sleeve as his face turned bright red.

"What the bloody hell are you doing?!" he squalled as I physically _dragged_ him down the hallway, breezing past a bemused Mrs. Sarah. "MISS THOMPSON, RELINQUISH MY SLEEVE IMMEDIATELY!"

"MOVE IT BITCH, I WANNA SEE FLYING MINT BUNNY!"

_"What?!"_

I burst open the door to England's magic room, grabbed the candelabra (which was still lit, the darn creepy thing) and continued my vapid way down the steps until I dumped a very enraged Britain at my feet.

"MISS THOMPSON!" he bellowed as he rose to his feet, his face beet red with rage. I was practically dancing with excitement, completely ignoring him as I clapped my hands and jumped up and down.

Britain's angry face slowly suffused into grudging amusement. "You really are eager to see Flying Mint Bunny, aren't you?" he asked with a slightly lopsided smirk, and I stopped dancing in place and grinned at him without shame.

"Are you kidding?! Flying Mint Bunny was the best part of the whole damn show!" I squealed, and his smile softened as he grabbed me by the shoulders.

"Well, here he is." he chuckled, gently turning me around.

I think I literally squealed loud enough to shatter glass, judging by Britain's slight wince from behind me. A small, absolutely _adorable_ rabbit was fluttering right in front of my nose, smiling happily. It was also green, and also glowing, but who gave a shit about that.

"OH MY GOD, YOU'RE ADORABLE!" I squealed, reaching out eagerly, then freezing. "Um, is it okay if I hug you?" I asked hesitantly, and the adorable creature beamed wider.

 _"Sure thing Miss Arya!"_ he chirped, and without further ado, I snatched up the fuzzy little darling and gave him the biggest snuggle I had ever given anything. Flying Mint Bunny was soft, warm, and fluffy, about the size of your average teddy bear, and as I squeezed him as tightly as I dared, I realized that touching him gave me little crackles of energy, like an electric spark.

A cough from behind us reminded me of Britain, and I turned around, still holding Flying Mint Bunny. The nation was looking amused, and Mint Bunny squirmed out of my arms and fluttered up to perch on my head, a warm presence that tingled against my skull and slightly frazzled my hair.

"I see you like Flying Mint Bunny." Britain told me, an amused smile tugging at the corner of his lips, as though he was doing his damndest not to smile and failing miserably.

I nodded as gently as I could, beaming happily as Flying Mint Bunny squirmed about and resituated himself on my head. His movement reminded me of something, and I pointed to my hair. "Why can I see him?" I asked curiously, and Britain pursed his lips in thought.

You've heard of _Peter Pan_ , yes?"

"One of my favorite books."

Britain nodded towards Flying Mint Bunny. "It runs along the same principle. If you don't believe, you don't see." he explained with a shrug, and I grinned.

_Right, I get it. And hey, speaking of-_

"So, not to be rude or anything," I added, looking up at the glowing traces of green I could spy above my bangs. "-but what _is_ Flying Mint Bunny?" I asked cautiously, and Britain smiled as the aforementioned creature fluttered off my head and went to circle around him, Britain's green eyes tracing the creature delightedly.

"Flying Mint Bunny is my familiar, so to speak. Before you ask, no, you are not getting one."

I pouted, but Britain was still distracted by the glowing rabbit flying circles around his face. "And before you whine at me, it's not because I don't want you to have one. To be brutally frank, your tutoring in magic will cover the basics, but you will not achieve anything more than that. Attracting a familiar takes decades of magical implementation and practice, which if either of us gets their way, you will _definitely_ not have."

He made a fair point. I _certainly_ wasn't going to be sticking around here for more than the bare minimum it took to learn the right spell and book it, no matter how cute the potential familiar might be.

"So what about your other magic friends?" I asked, and he straightened up, pulling the magic cloaks from the cabinet.

"Right, you'll need this." he said briskly, tossing mine to me as I tried to get it on with a few frantic tugs. As Britain brushed past me, he sighed heavily, then grabbed a corner and briskly yanked, getting the damn thing to fall perfectly into place.

He stepped onto the pentacle still laid out on the floor, muttering a few words as shadowy shapes began to manifest in the far corners of the room. Britain whirled around to smile at me, his emerald eyes sparkling wickedly. "Miss Thompson, you said you were familiar with the story of _Peter Pan_ , yes?"

I swallowed. "Um, yeah…"

He extended his hand with a grin. "When a story is told enough, and a character beloved enough, sometimes it becomes real. Aryana, meet Captain Hook."

I swallowed again as a figure melted out of the darkness, his eyes glowing slightly and his body, clothed in a brownish cloak and hat, slightly see-through. This wasn't the childish, goofy Captain Hook of _Disney_ , but rather the one described in the novel, gentlemanly, elegant, but with a dangerous edge, one that made him both sinister and malevolent. I instantly knew why Britain had wanted me to wear the cloak, but returned my attention to my teacher as he gestured to another figure.

"I mentioned them before, but here are the pixies. Say hello, girls." he said in amusement, and I blinked as six or seven little pixies, who looked exactly like any drawing of a fairy I had ever seen, broke out from behind him to circle me, chirruping their greetings in tiny, light-hearted voices. I couldn't help it, even with the slightly ominous presence of Captain Hook, I opened my mouth and laughed.

This was _awesome_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-Posted: February 7th, 2020, 1.46 PM USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: September 7th, 2015, 9.16 PM USA Central Time


	57. In Which Autumn Turns to Fall

_Arya's POV:_

Things settled into a pattern. Every day, regardless of whatever activities we had done the night before, Britain would wake me up at 8 o' clock sharp. I would have one hour to get dressed and prepare myself for the day, then meet him downstairs for breakfast, cooked by Mrs. Sarah.

I had grown quite fond of the bustling, portly woman, who helpfully explained some of the British ticks and quirks that my teacher displayed (of which there were many.) She also assisted by cooking breakfast, lunch, and dinner, for which I was eternally grateful. Britain never mentioned anything to or about her (except "Time for breakfast/lunch/dinner", and compliments for her cooking), but I got the distinct impression he was rather fond of her.

"Master Britain is very sensitive about his skills in the kitchen." Mrs. Sarah had suddenly said over lunch one day, and I had looked at her askance. Britain had been out meeting with his government for some reason or another, so we were alone in the house. Well, alone except for a few pixies and Flying Mint Bunny, who was fluttering around some of Britain's large rose bushes. The pixies were also in the back garden, flitting around the flowers and playing tag with each other. Mrs. Sarah and I were at the patio's dinner table, me watching the various magical creatures frolic about, Mrs. Sarah busily stirring her tea.

I continued to stare at her blankly. "What's that about Britain?" I asked slowly, still confused at her sudden outburst, and she looked at me sternly.

"Britain. He's very… _temperamental_ sometimes, when someone mentions something he's no good at."

"Like cooking?"

"Exactly so."

I rested my chin on my folded arms. "But even so, the guy's hundreds of years old. Shouldn't he have at least learned a _little_ by now?" I asked skeptically, and she took a sip of her tea, smiling winsomely.

"Some people are just like that, dearie. As old or older than this island Logres, he is, but can't cook to save his soul. Tried everything there ever was, used every spell he ever could, but he just…can't. If I were you, I'd accept it as is." she said firmly, and I shrugged, mostly to myself.

"A'right. Britain can't cook, fact of life established." I said lazily, stretching a little. Honestly, I was still a bit of a skeptic. How could anyone not cook? I could cook. I mean, sure, nowadays most everything was already made, and you usually just had to warm it up or pour it out or mix it up or open it, but still, I could cook the small percentage of food that actually needed cooking. Pasta, for one. Most kinds of American cookout food, too. A lot of stuff you'd see from a farm. I had been good at cookies and sweets, but after dealing with Oliver, never seeing a cupcake again, much less making one myself, would be far too soon.

"Why d'ya mention this all of a sudden?" I asked with another yawn, feeling exceptionally tired this particular morning. Britain and I had stayed up late last night, going over the various ritual alphabets. Apparently there were a lot of them, all interconnected, but all technically possible to use on their own, and some specialized to some kinds of demons and magic, but also interplaner…needless to say, it was a long night.

Mrs. Sarah looked at me with a slight frown. "I suppose it's because you are staying with Master Britain, and as his apprentice, you shouldn't wave those sorts of flaws right under his nose. He's stressed enough as is." she said firmly, and I blinked twice.

"He's stressed?" I asked rather dumbly, then winced and closed my eyes, wanting to smack myself. Hell, it was hard enough for the politicians in charge of a country to remain unstressed, and for them, it was technically nothing more than a job. Britain _lived_ and _breathed_ their jobs –literally.

No wonder the dude was so cranky all the time.

"Right…I'll have to say sorry." I said shamefully, and she gave me a stern look as I half-smiled apologetically and looked towards the garden, watching Flying Mint Bunny chase one of the pixies away from a rose he had taken a particular interest in.

And so life went on. Britain and I would have occasional spats for dominance, usually revolving around whatever obscure and absolutely useless piece of information he'd try to get me to memorize, or arguing with me about my lazy and American grammar, or me desperately begging on my hands and knees to have a break, please, I was gonna die, I didn't want to learn Chinese-Algebra-difficulty-level magic, please, can I just have one day off…

Mrs. Sarah was still the solid and unmoving household-center of calm (and yummy food), as well as surprisingly helpful tips on how to deal with countries and their strength, acquired tics, and stereotypes. (Apparently taking a deep breath just as a country was about to administer the Country Hug of Doom would lessen both the pain and possible damage.)

She also, believe it or not, taught me how to pick locks, something which I was undyingly grateful for –the amount of times a lockpick would have saved my ass in the past few months didn't bear thinking about. I now carried my personal kit around everywhere, sucked into the back of my combat pajamas or cloak. (Which I had only just managed to start wearing right.)

The leaves, which had been starting to turn colors, began to truly set off in fiery blazes of yellow, orange, and red, and September passed by in a blur of lore and learning. Britain, I noticed, had become less and less _tsundere_ , gradually opening up further and further, until my mistakes (of which there were…more than I wanted) weren't met with angry shouting and smacktalk, but with a weary sigh and a explanation of what I was doing wrong, usually framed in simpler terms so that I could understand. My schedule grew more flexible, with more allowance for relaxation and further training in combat. His conversation became less snippish, more absentmindedly friendly.

,em>"-and to those Whom wish to summon ye, the demons of the Abysse, let them know Unto you, that all flesh is Grass, and all growing is first the Flower of the field; the grass witherith, the flower Fadeth, but the word of Our Lord-"

I groaned and slammed the book down, staring up at Britain's ceiling as my eyes watered. Demonology was obviously not my thing –not by a long shot. _Would it kill Britain to translate these into modern English? I can barely read this stuff, never mind understand it. Well, luckily for me, it's not relevant to the spell I need to get home. Thank god._

"Something wrong, Miss Thompson?" Britain asked neutrally from his spot on the other couch, continuing his needlepoint. It looked like he was sewing some kind of flower onto the screen, but it was only half finished, so I wasn't sure.

"Nah…" I muttered, giving a little stretch as several joints clicked and popped. The corner of Britain's mouth twitched upward slightly, which I recognized as his form of a smile as he calmly pushed the needle back through the white fabric.

"Well then. Is there anything you find interesting in your book?" he asked absently, and I groaned and tossed it onto the coffee table.

"Hell no. Sorry about this, but Ye Olde English isn't really the best font for me to learn in. Could barely pick up one word in eight." I said apologetically, and he shrugged, losing the tiny, tiny smile and instead biting the corner of his mouth. Another tic Mrs. Sarah had taught me to recognize: unlike 2p!Britain, who only bit his lip when he was plotting diabolically or delighted with aforementioned diabolical plots, Britain only bit his lip when he was feeling guilty or ashamed of something he had done.

"I do suppose I owe you an apology for working you so hard in the first few weeks of your apprenticeship." he began, glancing over to me as he pushed the needle back through the screen, returning his eyes to the sewing project as he shifted a bit on the couch. "In my lackluster defense, I really had no judge of your character and, crass of me as it is, I didn't have much reason to trust the judgment of the Axis." Here he let out a grudging sigh. "But I did you an injustice. You have proven yourself to be determined, level-headed, and very dedicated to your goal –all things I find praiseworthy, especially in the face of my…well, rather ungentlemanly adversity." he coughed apologetically, then looked at me and did his tiny little not-smile-but-actually-a-smile. "I do believe though, that this will work out for the both of us. As an apology and standing offer, if there is anything you need, as your teacher and the one responsible for your wellbeing and safety, I'll do my noble best to get it for you."

I blinked twice, my face heating up. "Aw…dude, that's like…" I stuttered, blushing, feeling extremely touched by his honest (and hard-won) praise. The sight of the calendar on the wall reminded me of something, and I looked back at him and grinned sheepishly. "Well, I'm about due for my next break, and my birthday's in two weeks, so…" I trailed off hopefully, and he twisted around in his seat, staring at the tea-themed calendar. (Goddamn stereotypical Brit.)

"Is it really?" he asked in surprise, and I nodded as he reached for the coffee table and picked up his eternally-present tea. "Well then, I don't see anything wrong in planning a celebration." he said warmly, and I blinked twice, then, slowly, began to grin.

I launched myself across the table with a squeal of joy, ignoring Britain's (very manly) shriek of surprise as I hugged him gleefully and nearly spilled his boiling hot tea. Blushing beet red, he forcefully tried to shove me away, attempting to regain his English aura of dignity.

"MISS THOMPSON, THERE IS NO REASON TO BE SO BLOODY T-TOUCHY!"

"THANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOU **THANK YOU SO MUCH**!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-Posted: February 7th, 2020, 1.50 PM USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: September 13th, 2015, 9.32 PM USA Central Time


	58. In Which the Party Happens (Part 1)

_Arya's POV:_

"-and _Celebro, Cero_ –no no, _Cero_ with that extra _ixuim_ curl I told you about, right there." Britain said encouragingly, quickly correcting my mistake as I frowned and dipped my brush in the paint again, putting a slight curlicue on the bottom edge of my most recent rune.

Britain scanned over it and the rest of the hopefully-flawless pentacle with a jaundiced eye, pacing around the edges and getting down on his knees once to check another sigil. I waited nervously, fidgeting with my paintbrush as I watched him look over my work. This was the first magic I had attempted since he took me on as an apprentice –everything before this had been preliminary work, learning the runes, how to draw them and pentacles accurately, what incantations to use in an emergency, and theory, theory, and more theory. As Britain had said earlier, I almost certainly wouldn't be doing anything more than a bit of this and a bit of that, mostly stuff that I could master quickly while he skimmed through his books in search of the right spell.

So far I had mastered the basic rune alphabet needed for almost all spells, which was based off of Latin and Greek. My studies in German and Italian had certainly helped with broadening my intellectual flexibility, but there was nothing on God's good green earth that can empower someone to draw a perfect circle on their first try. The incantations were hard to memorize and call up on the spot as Britain demanded, but after learning German and a smidgen of Italian, Latin, and Greek, the pronunciation wasn't anything to write home about.

So here I was, on the eve of my seventeenth birthday, trying out my first magic spell ever, designed to clean Britain's home of any breakables and store them safely in his basement (apparently a floor above us and to the right), since there would be a bunch of countries coming over and they wouldn't be very choosy about his precious memorabilia.

Britain interrupted my nervous musings with a cough and a slight smirk in my direction. "Well done, Miss Thompson. Everything appears in order." he said in approval as he threw his arm out, his cloak swishing dramatically with the movement, and I beamed.

"Alright! So, now can I…?"

I trailed off hopefully, and he chuckled.

"Of course. Here, let me step back, and remember, if anything goes wrong, I'll be backing you up." he admonished, seemingly fading into the dark shadows of the basement, and I gulped as I took my place at the northernmost point of the pentacle.

"Um, out of sheer curiosity, what'll happen if it goes wrong?" I asked nervously as I picked up the spell book, and his frown was practically audible.

"Then you'll either transport all my effects to somewhere else, or break them." He waited so it was a suitably ominous pause before adding "And you'd best hope it's the former."

Well, wasn't that encouraging.

Nevertheless, I was gonna do my noble best to complete this, my first spell ever.

I carefully held my hand out over the pentacle, felt the first tingling of magic in my fingertips as the sigil began to glow a soft blue.

 _"Kotae ima orokanaru monodomo wo, guren no honoo de yaki tsukuse!"_ I shouted firmly, and the glow shot up and expanded all throughout the basement with a _shoom_ as my vision temporarily shorted out. After several quick blinks, the white blur blocking my eyes began to fade away, and I could make out the dim forms of the basement furniture and curios, but nothing else.

I froze uncertainly, and heard Britain shuffle behind me.

"Miss Thompson? Miss Thompson?" he asked in concern as I felt his hand on my shoulder, and I awkwardly shut the book.

"Uh, dude, I can't see. Everything's all white and blurred out." I said fearfully, trying to feel around, and I heard him "ah" in understanding as his grip on my shoulder changed and he slowly turned me around.

"I forgot that this happens with most first-timers. Close your eyes."

I closed them, and felt him gently wiping some kind of potion or what-have-you on my eyelids.

"So, what is the thing that _"happens with most first-timers"_?" I asked nervously, and he chuckled softly.

"While you have been around magic and magical users quite often in these past few months, this is the first time you have personally used any amount of magic energy _yourself_ , and magic is just like any other energy source. Using it is a bit like submitting yourself to an electric charge, which most first-timers haven't built up a resistance to." he explained, and I hmmed.

"So my eyeballs shorted out?" I asked jokingly, and I heard a muffled snort, as if he had almost laughed but managed to stop it in time.

"Nothing of the sort: there is an inborn ability to see magic in every human and non-human being. You using magical energy for the first time had the metaphorical effect of shining a bright flashlight into the "eye" that can see magic, temporarily blinding you."

_"Temporarily?"_

_"Temporarily_. You can open your eyes now."

I did so, feeling that he had stopped smearing the stuff over my eyelids. Sure enough, while everything was still watery and weak, I could see things more or less distinctively. One of those things being a smug-looking Britain with his incredibly bushy eyebrows and glimmering green eyes, holding a bottle of something-or-another in one hand.

"Excellent. Now, let's see how that spell turned out, shall we?" he asked, whipping around as his cloak gave another dramatic flare.

 _I seriously need to learn how to do that._ I thought jealously, following him as he strode confidently towards the stairs to the upper portions of the house.

I followed my teacher as he exited the gigantic doorway on the ground floor, then did an about right-face and opened yet another door that led down to the sub-basement, and I squealed in glee and jumped up and down, clapping my hands, as I saw all of Britain's breakable objects and whatnot stored inside the formerly empty basement. Britain smiled warmly and gripped my shoulder, for once not telling me to reign in my excitement.

"Well done, Miss Thompson. Your first magic spell."

_***Time Skip***_

How do most people spend their birthdays?

I had spent 16 of them in a small-town place full of people who, at best, said "happy birthday" and sent me a random card with some money in it. Even my parents barely managed to do more than bake me a cake and give me a few kisses.

Like pretty much everything else in _Hetalia_ , this birthday was different.

For starters, I didn't wake up on my usual 8 o'clock schedule. I woke up at approximately 7 in the morning by someone screaming various oaths at the top of his lungs. For I had gotten jolted out of my nice, warm, and fluffy sleep by Britain shouting, and I stormed down the stairs just in time to catch him mid-scream.

"-AND JUST WHAT GAVE YOU THE BLOODY BRIGHT IDEA TO DROP IN AT 6 IN THE MORNING WHEN EVERY REASONABLE PERSON SHOULD BE ASLEEP!?" Britain was shrieking at France, Prussia, and Spain, all of whom were scattered across his kitchen.

France laughed as he placed a white pasteboard box on the counter. "Ohonhonhon, _Angleterre_ , you really are useless when you're sleep-deprived. It's seven, not six." he pointed out smugly, and Britain nearly burst a fuse, clothed in an extremely old-fashioned nightshirt and trousers.

"THERE'S NO BLOODY DIFFERENCE WHEN IT'S THIS EARLY!" he bellowed, and Spain looked slightly anxious.

 _"Mi amigo_ , maybe you should try to tone it down? The young _senorita_ is probably still asleep, and we want this to be a surprise." he said worriedly, and I whistled from my spot leaning against the doorway, making all the males glance in my direction.

"Bit late for that, boyo." I yawned, and they all looked guilty.

France, as typical of him, was first to recover. " 'Allo _Mademoiselle_ , and happy birthday!" he said, gracefully pulling the box off the counter and presenting it to me, revealing that it was in fact a cake, and not a present. I felt extremely grateful that it wasn't cupcakes, and smiled at him thankfully.

"It looks really good dude, thanks." I said happily, and squeaked as I was suddenly hugged from behind and actually lifted from the ground with the force of it.

"Hey there _fraulien! Alles Gute zum Geburtstag!_ (Happy birthday!)" Prussia shouted from behind me, and I laughed awkwardly with him, squirming a little.

"Hey, um, that's great an' all, but could you put me down?" I croaked, and Britain's face turned red.

"YOU CRASS BASTARD, SHE'S STILL IN HER NIGHTWEAR!" he shouted, and France raised an elegantly trimmed blonde eyebrow.

"So are you." he pointed out succinctly, and every exposed inch of Britain's skin turned crimson, right down to his ears.

Prussia cackled from behind me as Britain fled the room, setting me down as France, Spain, and I snickered.

"It isn't anything I haven't seen before." the German nation announced flippantly, and I smacked my forehead as Spain raised an eyebrow and France chuckled.

"Ohonhonhon, _mon ami_ , you could have phrased that better." he told Prussia, who grinned and shrugged.

"Eh, so what? Ze _fraulien_ knows I'm not being serious." he snickered, and I rolled my eyes.

"Whatever. So, why are you guys here so… early?" I asked suspiciously, and France smirked as Spain beamed and Prussia laughed again.

"Kesese, because it's a surprise, _fraulein!_ A surprise party!"

"But I already know you're here…"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-Posted: February 7th, 2020, 1.58 PM USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: September 19th, 2015, 6.54 PM USA Central Time


	59. In Which the Party Happens (Part 2)

_Arya's POV:_

So far, the party was going full swing. Since apparently my birthday was not enough of an occasion for most of the countries who didn't know me personally, it was also sorta combined with a celebratory _"haha in your face 2p!s we win"_ party.

Of course, it was phrased more diplomatically than that, but the feeling was, essentially, the same. It also explained quite neatly why there were countries I didn't know wandering about the place, who obviously didn't know me all that much either.

Mrs. Sarah had taken a leave of absence and would arrive in time to clean up, but I had already gotten her birthday present, which was a surprisingly comfortable and good-looking knitted long-sleeve shirt. Whatever thread or wool she had used was thin enough that it didn't look all bulky and sweater-like, but it was warm, and tightly-knitted enough that no skin was showing.

I had taken to wandering around the house with the BTT (which was probably not the best decision) for lack of other people I knew. Britain was out patrolling the house and making sure nobody got into or touched something that they weren't supposed to, so fat chance of having a civil conversation with him.

France suddenly stopped dead as Spain and Prussia were busily dismantling some kind of knickknack, spinning to face me with a wicked gleam in his eye and an elegant flourish of his cape. "And now Mademoiselle, I shall present your gift to you. Close your eyes!" he commanded, and with a trace of nervousness, I obeyed. I heard him walk around me and shuffle around a bit, then something cold clipped onto my ear. It didn't hurt, but it pinched slightly, and I let out a squeak of shock and protest, jerking my head away and opening my eyes. "Don't move, _s'il vous plait_. Prussia, cover her eyes." France said briskly, moving to my other side.

I growled in irritation as Prussia held his hand over my eyes, trying to glare through his palm. "Accomplice-ing bastard." I muttered, and he cackled as I felt something else clip onto my other ear. The penny finally dropped as I felt something snake around my neck and then drop, a slightly cool weight settling on my chest as Prussia uncovered my eyes.

"Turn around!" France chimed proudly, and I turned, seeing him hold up a mirror to my face. His gift was rather obvious, not to mention playing to his type: stylish, slightly iridescent clip-on earrings dangled from my ears, and a matching pendant-style necklace gleamed from my throat. But all cynicism aside, they were beautiful, and I "oohed", touching the necklace and earrings excitedly.

"Dude, they're so pretty!" I exclaimed, and he flipped his hair with a smirk.

"But of course, _mon cher_. My only problem was remembering whether or not you 'ad pierced your ears, so in the end I got the clip-on versions." he explained, and I grinned and hugged him.

"I really like them!"

He "Ohonhonhon"ed, patting me on the back, and I stayed like that for half a second, until Spain eagerly tugged on my shoulder and I turned to face him.

He beamed, showing off his perfectly white teeth, and held up what looked like a pair of tapdance shoes. My confused expression must've showed, because he explained, still beaming. "They're a pair of nice shoes, _chica_. Like for important meetings and stuff like that." he said, and I took them from him with a smile.

"Thanks dude, I really appreciate it." I chuckled, then noticed something. "But, um, how did you get my shoe size?"

They all answered in unison, "Britain sent out your measurements two weeks before the party."

I nodded, relieved that nobody –especially one of the BTT– had been stalking me like a creeper. Then I paused as Prussia began to argue with the others about who got to give me their gifts first. _Wait a second…how did Britain know my shoe size? And —did they say measurements?_

 _…as in general measurements…!?_

Britain's creepy attention to details aside (Mrs. Sarah did wash our clothes for us, so she probably told him for the birthday party), it was time for Prussia to give me his present, which he pulled from out of nowhere like an anime boss.

I nearly squealed in glee as I saw him unroll a large bundle of black fabric to reveal a _badass motherfucking **trenchcoat**_ , complete with a bunch of pockets and slit sides for better movement.

Prussia smirked and lifted it up, and I laughed as I saw a scale model of his yellow canary Gilbird sewn onto the front right pocket. "Dude, that is freaking _awesome_." I said excitedly as he handed it to me, hugging to my chest along with the formal shoes. I was gonna need to put all this somewhere…

"Oy! You lot!"

Speak of the devil and he shall appear: Britain suddenly wriggled through the crowd and stood in front of us, my apocalypse bag clutched in one hand. He sent a daggerlike glare at France for absolutely no reason whatsoever –other than the fact of, you know, him being France– and handed my bag to me primly.

"I see I'm not a second too soon. Here's your bag Miss Thompson: I put an indefinite volume spell on it, so you can store all these… _things_ …" He sent another poisonous glare towards the BTT, who grinned and posed according to whatever egotism they tended towards. "-that today's guests will give you, and transport them home safely. I also locked it against any interference, which is much better than the padlock you've been using." he added, and I beamed and hugged him tightly. Britain suffered the hug for about half a second before squirming out of my grip and retreating down the hallway rapidly, the back of his neck red.

"Zat guy seriously needs to take ze stick out of his ass und learn to like human contact." Prussia observed from beside me, completely deadpan, and then France and Spain snickered and nudged him as they all burst out laughing.

France suddenly clapped me on the back mid-laugh, his blue eyes glimmering with laughter. "I would love to remain 'ere and celebrate, but my government has need of me later this afternoon, and I must catch my plane in ten minutes. _Au revoir~!"_ he cooed, suddenly kissing me on both cheeks and then swishing off as I belatedly shielded my face, my cheeks burning.

"That guy's way too flamboyant…and French." I muttered to myself as Prussia broke out into new peals of laughter, joined by Spain, and went off to go vandalize the buffet table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-Posted: February 7th, 2020, 2.02 PM USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: September 18th, 2015, 6.54 PM USA Central Time


	60. In Which The Party Ends (Part 3)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When Britain says THAT PET NAME, I've actually read several Pirate!England fanfics that make it seem like his favorite form of endearment. So I could see him saying that every so often and then going "oh fuck, bad idea" after the 2p!s took over.

_Arya's POV:_

I was left to wander around by myself for a while, and after a few minutes of searching in vain for someone I recognized, I decided to trail after Prussia and Spain like the awkward third wheel I was.

However, I let out a sigh of relief as I heard a familiar booming laugh and saw the freaky blond cowlick bobbing above the crowd. I started towards him, but then realized there was another someone I knew tucked into one of the corner's at Britain's house, sipping at his drink and being generally ignored.

"Dude! Canada!" I shouted, and his head whipped up, his eyes wide. He actually looked from one side to the other, then pointed to his chest and mouthed _"me?"_ his face both awed and shocked. I nodded eagerly, worming my way through the crowd until I was standing right next to him. "Hi! I'm Arya, and you're-"

"Canada." he mumbled into his shirt, looking bashfully at his shoes. His polar bear Kuma-something-or-another (since I couldn't say the name for beans) was snuffling around the slightly scuffed sneakers, and I nearly imploded from the sheer amount of awkward cute that was radiating from the both of them.

"It's really nice to meet you." Canada added after I had been staring at his polar bear for several seconds, and I hurriedly looked up.

"Oh, yeah, sorry dude. It's just Kuma, um, Kuma…Kumajiro? Kumajaro? He's so _cute."_ I explained, feeling like a jerk for ignoring him even though I hadn't really ignored him, and Canada bent down, picking up the sleepy-eyed little bear.

"Mm. Sorry about him, but we switched a bunch of timezones to come here, so we're both a bit tired." he explained with an absolutely adorable yawn as I tried very hard not to glomp him at high velocity.

"Yeah, switchin' timezones sucks." I said with some sympathy, remembering with regret what it had felt like traveling to Japan from Italy, and Japan to China, China to Germany…whenever we had got in to a hotel, I had slept like there was no tomorrow. Or yesterday. Or any time at all.

Canada smiled at me warmly. "Mm-hmm. So you're Aryana, right?" he asked in a friendly manner, switching Kuma-something-or-another to one arm as he politely extended his other hand. I smiled and took it, shaking his hand gently as he smiled back.

"I prefer Arya, actually. It's less pretentious and doesn't sound as much like my parents are complete history nuts…or Nazis." I said with a small, awkward laugh, and he smiled with a bit more life.

"I suppose. But I think it's a very nice name, eh." he said with a soft laugh, and I smiled awkwardly, standing on one leg.

"Well, it's the only one I've got. What're you doin' here?" I asked him, and he shifted Kuma-hama-ha in his arms as he offered me an awkward smile of his own.

"Don't be too offended, eh, but I came here for the victory celebration over our undergrounds. I did hear it was your birthday though, many happy returns." he told me with a more genuine tilt to his lips, and I beamed at him.

"Thanks."

"I didn't get you anything though, sorry."

"Nah, 's fine. I mean, I barely know you."

"True. And I really do mean to thank you for-"

" **DUDES!** "

You know that one really, really loud friend you have? The one that you sometimes wish would go die in a hole because they're so loud but they still somehow manage to make you laugh _every time_ because their whole being is like comprised of sunshine and rainbows and happiness? That was what America was like.

"DUDES!" he repeated at a slightly less ear-shattering volume as he slung an arm over my shoulder and gave Canada the same treatment. "Why are you guys all hiding in the corner, man? This is a party, you should have fun!" he said excitedly, and I smiled awkwardly at him as Canada did the same. I had to admit, loud and irritating as he was, America really was a nice guy, both in the literal and metaphorical sense. There just wasn't a mean or cruel bone in his body.

Canada quickly unslung America's arm with the ease of long practice as Kuma-jello shifted a little and mumbled something. "Sorry America, but I have to say my greetings to everyone and then get back home. There's an important meeting I have to go to, eh." he covered, wandering off and not-quite-literally fading into the distance.

America turned to me, his bright blue eyes practically sparkling with energy and life. "So, dude, it's your birthday! That's totally rad, how old are you?!" he asked excitedly, and I laughed and rubbed the back of my neck.

"Seventeen. Only one more year until I hit the big one, huh?" I asked him wryly, and he laughed and clapped me on the back as I quickly tightened my muscles like Mrs. Sarah had told me, and was rewarded by only having all the breath driven out of me, and not toppling forward as well.

"Dude, that's awesome! You're like, almost legal!"

I laughed awkwardly, sweatdropping. _That's an interesting way of putting it…_

America suddenly held his hands behind his back, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "Alright! So since I'm your country of origin, I had to get you the biggest, baddest present like ever in the history of birthdays!" he shouted out, and I giggled, unable to help myself.

"Alright dude, hit me with your best shot." I said eagerly, playing along, and he whipped his hands out from behind his back. I stared at the objects in his hand.

"The best piece of Americana like, ever! A COLT SINGLE-ACTION REVOLVER!" America crowed, closing his eyes as his bright smile practically blinded me. I hesitantly took the pistol and holster from him, looking at them curiously. The leather holster seemed like a fairly standard model (not that I would know anything about that), without any kind of engravings or embellishment. The pistol was, like America had boasted, a pretty iconic-looking gun, pretty much the stereotypical example of a Western-shoot-out-style-actually-have-to-flick-the-hammer pistol. It also had a surprisingly elegant engraving of an eagle on the handle/stock/whatever-the-hell-it-was-you-held-it-by.

"It's mostly for the symbolism, 'cause there's no way this could hold up to modern guns. See this?" America said eagerly, pointing out the little flicky hammer thing that connected to the chambers. "Ya have to pull that all the way back every time ya want to fire, and it only fires six shots before it needs reloading. But still, it's a pretty cool present, right?!" he asked with another mega-watt grin, and I nodded at him and beamed, carefully packing the gun and holster away in my apocalypse bag. I wasn't lying: it was pretty damn cool, and one of the best presents I had gotten, like…ever.

_Although the Gilbird trench coat was pretty damn close._

America grinned and gave me a bone-crunching hug, then I felt him look up at someone by the buffet table. "Ah goddamn it, looks like I gotta go settle things between Cuba and Canada. See you around dude!" he said happily as he let me go, then zoomed off to go join his allies.

I let out a sigh of semi-relief, dusting myself off busily as I slung my bag over my shoulder and went to the kitchen, which commandeered the best view of England's front yard. I craned my neck, looking hopefully down the road, but there was no sign of either of the Italian brother's cars, although I did see Prussia's beloved new car parked in the driveway-

"Ahem."

I jumped as someone tapped me on the shoulder, and I turned to see Germany standing behind me, his face slightly pink and a wrapped box in his hands.

"Erm, happy birthday." he mumbled, and I smiled and nudged his arm. I felt comfortable enough around him now that I knew it wouldn't cause WWIII.

"Dude, chill out. It's a party, and you've known me for months. I don't bite." I told him, and he smiled awkwardly.

"Right. Anyway _Frau_ Thompson, I wanted to give you this."

He handed me the gift, and I looked up at him for permission before unwrapping it.

Turns out it was a…nice watch.

I'm pretty sure Germany saw my nonplussed look, because he hurried to explain his somewhat lackluster gift choice. "I know it doesn't seem like much, but in some combat situations, it ist extremely important to know time und other such things. It give you ze date, time, und can be used as a flashlight." he said sheepishly, and I nodded a few times, although I did scowl slightly behind his back. _Why is everyone giving me stuff under the assumption I'm gonna be in trouble?_

Although given my track record…

I made a face and shook my head rapidly. _I refuse to acknowledge my extremely bad luck as anything but that; bad luck. I am not a magnet for trouble. I am not a magnet for trouble._ I repeated silently to myself, following Germany as he led me over to the buffet for some food and drink. I ignored Prussia's enthusiastic "You're legally allowed to drink in Germany, so have a beer!" and took some lemonade for myself.

Side note, lemonade in Europe is carbonated, unlike American lemonade, which is plain. Weird right?

 _Europeans are strange, man._

I sighed as I slowly drank the lemonade down, seeing Germany and Prussia start arguing about whether or not allowing me to drink was legal, since it was legal in Germany (if it was only beer).

I then saw Japan quietly conversing with China, and went to go talk to them, since neither of the Germanic nations were paying attention to anything at this point.

Japan saw me coming first, and politely broke off conversation with China, giving me a bow. "Ah, Aryana-san. It is a preasure to wish you a happy birthday." he said solemnly, and China turned to me and smiled.

"Hello Arya, aru. Is your throat healing okay?" he asked in a friendly manner, and I rubbed my neck with a rueful grin.

"The scar is starting to heal, but it still hurts to shout." I said truthfully, and China suddenly grabbed my chin and gently tilted my head back, peering at my throat.

"That's certainly a nasty cut, aru. You are very lucky." he pronounced as he studied it, and I giggled.

"Lucky is practically my middle name, Mr. China."

I could practically see the lightbulb that suddenly appeared above his head. "Aiyah! I almost forgot, aru!" he said frantically, rummaging around in his billowy robe as Japan blinked twice from behind him, which I understood was his version of a confused stare. China finally found whatever he was rummaging around for, and proudly whipped out something that looked like a much classier –and cleaner– version of the dress I had worn to infiltrate 2p!China's house, all bright red fabric and gleaming golden dragons. I stared at it for half a second, wondering if China had it in him to do that kind of prank, then realized it was much longer and quite obviously much more expensive than the costume Prussia had gotten for me.

It really was just a dress.

I took it from China eagerly, letting the dress unroll and holding it to my chest as I watched the contrasting colors shimmer and glow in the light. "It looks really nice dude, thanks!" I told him excitedly, and he beamed.

"You're welcome, aru!" he returned, and Japan coughed very quietly, bowing to me an extending a long, thin package.

"For you." he said quietly, and I hurriedly stored the dress in my bag and took the package, unwrapping it. Let me be honest: I was so hoping for a samurai sword, even though Japan had told me numerous times that it would be a waste of money, because it took years to train how to use one.

I was half right.

"Dude, you got me a…what is it?" I asked in both confusion and excitement, seeing the single-edged, _very_ Japanese-looking knife roughly the length of my elbow to my wrist lying in the box. Japan smiled ever-so-slightly.

"It is a _tanto_. Not quite a kantana, but crose enough for you, _hai?"_ he asked with some amusement, and I beamed at him.

"Dude, this is awesome! I'd hug you if you wouldn't freak out!" I told Japan excitedly, and his face turned pink.

"Prease don't." he agreed, and me and China laughed. The two Asians included me into their conversation effortlessly, which mainly had to do with the supernatural inferences and repercussions of the 2p!s and world-transfer, which I hopped right on into. Nothing like a bit of philosophy to cheer me up –it was one of the few sophisticated things my tiny middle-of-nowhere town had available to learn.

We were talking for about an hour, pausing to get drinks and snacks, but then I heard a familiar-sounding shriek. Japan did his almost-smile as China sighed heavily, and they excused themselves as I resigned myself to my own fate, turning around to see-

"ARYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

 **WHAM**.

I barely managed to save my drink and plate of yummy food from crashing to the floor as a familiar brunet male slammed into my midsection, nearly tackling me over into the food table. Italy raised his featherbrained little face to me, a wide grin suffusing his features.

"Arya! It's so good to see you; I missed having you at my house! That scary Britain hasn't done anything mean to you, has he? Of course he hasn't, you would call me and Germany and _fratello_ and they would go and beat him up-"

A fist to the top of his head shut Italy up as Romano fumed from beside him. "Shut the hell up, bastard! You don't need to yell!" Romano all but shouted himself, and I gave them both a lopsided smile.

"Hey guys. I was waiting for ya." I chuckled, and Italy beamed wider, straightening up to hug me by the shoulders.

"Ooh goody, she missed us!" he cooed, rubbing his cheek against mine as I giggled and leaned away slightly. Italy would make a perfect lap cat, I swear to god. (Unlike his brother, who would make an excellent get-the-fuck-away-from-me alley cat.)

And speaking of, the cheerful Italian extended his other arm to Romano, who was busy rolling his eyes at the both of us. "C'mon _fratello!_ Join the group hug!" he encouraged, and Romano snorted.

"No thanks, I don't do hugs –chigi!" he squeaked, Italy completely disregarding his refusal and dragging him in to our little Italian-group-hug. Italy squeezed the both of us tightly, practically vibrating with happiness as we vibrated with discomfort, being squished far too close together by the blissfully ignorant Italian.

"Little Arya's growing up, I'm so proud!" Italy chirruped as he nuzzled the top of my head, and Romano scowled from somewhere beneath my collarbone.

"I hate you both." he muttered vengefully into my shoulder, and I nodded best I could.

"Right there with ya." I added in an undertone, and Italy finally released us as we stepped away, took in a breath, and enjoyed our personal space.

Italy suddenly shoved something leather in my face, and I hurriedly arched backward, trying to actually _look_ at it instead of having it shoved up my nose. I then saw a rather stylish pair of boots, and I looked at Italy with a slight smile.

"Thanks dude, these are pretty cool." I told him, taking them from his hands and putting them in my apocalypse bag.

Italy beamed. _"Prego!_ (You're welcome!) I'm glad you like them, they're special boots for running since you run away nearly as much as me and 'Mano, and since you're a pretty _bella_ you need to look good when running and-"

Romano interrupted his brother's rambling with a particularly well-aimed elbow to the side. "She gets it, _fratello_. Cool boots, can also take some damage." he grumbled, and I put my hands on my hips expectantly.

"Weeell?" I drawled, and he raised an irritated eyebrow at me.

"Weeeell what?" he mocked, copying my posture, except with a more arrogant tilt to his hips, and I made a beckoning motion with one hand, smirking slightly.

"C'mon man, fess up. You know me better than almost everybody here: I know you got me a present."

Romano turned slightly red. "I-I might have!" he snapped, facing away from me and folding his arms, and I grinned.

"Aw, c'mon Romano. Pleeeease?" I whined, and Italy joined in, facing his brother and using his super-ultra secret weapon –the puppy eyes.

Romano instantly buckled under the pressure and turned around, his face set in a scowl as he shoved a box at me, refusing to look me in the eyes.

I snickered and took it, unwrapping the oddly small container to find an Italian-flag style phone case with his and Italy's signature.

"Aw, dude, that's so sweet." I said, taking my phone out of my pocket and snapping the case on.

Romano's scowl deepened as he continued looking away from me. "Yeah, well, you get in trouble so often and need to call for help, I figured it'd be the one gift you actually used." he explained sharply, then turned pale and vanished in a puff of anime air as I heard his rapidly retreating footsteps. Italy turned to look at what he saw and paled as well, squeaking and heading for the hills along with his brother. I turned, and was unsurprised to see Russia bearing down on me, a friendly smile on his face and a bundle in one hand.

 _"Privet_ , friend Arya!" he called, setting a bottle of vodka down on the table. "I came to give you a present for the birthday." he added happily, extending the bundle towards me as I took it. I "oohed" as I opened it up to reveal an extremely fancy Russian-style coat, obviously meant for an icy and bitter winter.

"Thanks dude! I needed one of these!" I said in excitement, and he beamed, resting his hand on my head and ruffling my hair. Just like last time, it felt like he was trying to crush my skull into six or seven pieces.

"You're welcome. It is what friends do, _da?_ And we are friends."

The last part was said with some firmness, and I suddenly felt threatened. "Uh…yeah dude. Sure thing." I said nervously, and he smiled wider.

_Now I knew why a lot of the characters were afraid of him._

_And speaking of, why the hell did most of them get me clothes?!_

_…sexist bastards._

__

_***Time Skip***_

"Ugh, I can't believe those bloody bastards. Did they even try to use the garbage can?" Britain asked irritably as he picked up a crumpled paper plate and chucked it into the waste bin we had put in his living room. Britain had discarded his military green overcoat, and was wearing the formal button-down shirt that went beneath it (also slightly tinted green) and his tie, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to the elbow. I had already changed into my combat pajamas, as Britain had insisted on cleaning up before doing anything else –including magic lessons. And knowing him, it would be midnight before he was satisfied with the cleanliness of the house.

"Well, there were some pretty messy countries here." I compromised, carrying some of the confetti (and where the hell had they gotten _that_?) over to the bin.

Britain snorted, continuing to pick up bits and pieces of trash and chuck them in the bin, which he was closer to. "Honestly, it's like those buggers have no idea of how to clean up after themselves." he muttered. "What are they, children? I never had that luxury, even when I was younger and a hooligan I was still quite thorough in-"

I tuned him out as he obviously began going off on one of his "why I'm better than everyone else" rants. Britain was a nice guy, really and truly he was, and he had a lot of good qualities, but sometimes, the guy was just an asshat.

I wasn't stupid though, and made vaguely agreement-sounding noises throughout his ranting, while the both of us steadily tidied up his living room and moved all the furniture back its proper place.

I tuned back in just as Britain straightened up, arching and cracking his back. "Ah, that's good." He turned to me with a weary smile. "Come along now poppet, let's-"

He stopped at my horrified look, then understanding washed over his face and Britain clapped a hand over his mouth. "Oh bloody –I'm sorry Miss Thompson, I didn't mean anything by it." he blurted, looking equally horrified, and I smiled hesitantly.

"W-well…yeah dude, okay." I managed to stutter out, and Britain gave me a slight smile of wincing apology. Then realization suddenly crossed over his face, and he pinched his nose with a heavy sigh.

"Oh, that's just bloody _fantastic_. That blasted twat has ruined one of my endearments." he growled, and I managed a tiny smile.

"It's not the end of the world, dude." I told him flatly. He glared at me through his bushy eyebrows.

"I'm not saying that! It's just that France and America and all those other cheeky blighters have their very own endearments and love words and everything specifically native to their country, and now mine is ruined by some freckle-faced demonic-double _twat!"_ he said, waving his arms around angrily.

I giggled, much as I tried to stop it, and he glared at me for a second longer before "hmph!"ing and looking away, his arms prissily folded.

"Very well then, fine. You can go to bed now, and resume our magic lessons tomorrow." Britain grouched, and I slumped a little bit, but the "punishment" definitely wasn't as bad as it could be, especially since I had gotten worn out from prepping for the party, partying with the countries, and then cleaning up afterwards.

"Right dude, g'night." I yawned, and he spluttered as I turned around to trudge back to my room.

"Don't you "good night" me like you aren't even fazed! It's a punishment! Be angry! Be sad! DON'T YOU WALK AWAY FROM ME!" Britain yowled, continuing to throw a (very manly equivalent of) a temper tantrum. I could tell, though, that it was mostly because he was also at the end of his leash too, especially since he had been a lot more active than me throughout the day, constantly (and futilely) trying to keep his house clean with a bunch of nations simultaneously harassing him about everything else.

I yawned as I shouldered open my door and leaned it closed, feeling drop-dead tired. I had gotten used to the comparatively lazy routine of learning magic and hanging out with Britain, rather than running all over everyplace and fighting all the super-tough 2p!s, so it was in a daze that I laid out my stuff for the next day, my eyes heavy with sleep.

I heard Britain walk by as I was brushing out my hair, and he gave my door a soft tap. "Goodnight Miss Thompson." he said briskly, and I nodded to myself.

"Night." I yawned, hearing his footsteps move off again. I finished brushing my hair out and reflexively locked my apocalypse bag, before climbing into my four-poster bed and snuggling beneath the covers. What with the cold night air of October, those heavy wool blankets were becoming a necessity.

I drifted off, dreaming of this and that as I drowsily listened to the house make the natural, soft creaks that any building made as it shifted about during the night, and the soft murmurings of Flying Mint Bunny and the pixies. Hook and the Unicorn were more powerful, so it took them more power to come into this world, so they didn't do it as often, I remembered as my eyelids fluttered shut and true sleep finally came over me.

_***Time Skip***_

Something was wrong.

My eyes slowly slid open, and I mumbled something irritable as I saw the early hour on the clock beside my bed, closing them again with every intention of going to sleep.

Something was off though, and it was still bugging me. My eyebrow twitched slightly as I figured out what it was: the mattress had sunk deeper than normal, as if I had gotten heavier.

Or if someone was in bed with me, but that was stupid. All the same, I turned to look.

My eyes snapped open wide as my whole body tensed up.

A wicked Cheshire grin stretched the familiar face above me, his blue eyes twinkling with malice, and Oliver held up the largest knife from Britain's kitchen, his eyes gleaming wickedly as he wiggled the handle over my face.

" 'Ello poppet. I do believe this is my win, yes?"

 **WHAM**.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH YEAH, HE'S BACK BITCHES!
> 
> Cross-Posted: February 7th, 2020, 2.14 PM USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: September 19th, 2015, 9.21 PM USA Central Time


	61. In Which Shock Comes

_Arya's POV:_

_Ooh…my **head** …_

I groaned and cracked my eyelids open, feeling my skull throb in time to each of my heartbeats. I reached up, feeling around the tender spot on my forehead that was almost certainly a glaring, swollen bruise.

 _Must've hit me with the blunt end of the handle._ I thought painfully, sitting up. As I did so, I realized with some amount of shock that I was –unharmed. Unmoved.

I stared at the familiar confines of my room at England's house, my eyes darting from one landmark to the other. Everything was still in its proper place. Other than the giant bruise on my forehead, I was completely unharmed, and I wasn't tied down or bound in any way, shape, or form.

I quickly slid out of bed, wincing as my center of gravity shifted and my head throbbed in warning. I quickly grabbed my brush and raked it through my hair –whatever else I might do, at least I wouldn't be facing down an angry 2p with a somewhat ridiculous bedhead.

That done, I grabbed my apocalypse bag and searched for the _tanto_ knife Japan had given me. While hanging out with Prussia and Germany had taught me how to properly handle and clean a gun, I had absolutely no confidence on my ability to aim and reload –not to mention the Colt America had given me only had a single box of shots.

After arming myself, I looked for my phone in its new Italian-flag casing, only to realize that my room was not _completely_ untouched.

My phone was missing.

I stood frozen in the center of my room, my heart thumping against my chest.

_Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit._

There was no way it could be in the bathroom or downstairs: I had put my phone on the bedside table in case of emergencies, like I _always_ did. I knew I had. I had actually seen it when I went to sleep: I knew it was there.

Which meant that something –or someone– had moved it.

I took a few deep breathes. Right. _Right_.

I opened my eyes, tightened my grip on the _tanto_ knife, and opened my door just barely, peeking out into the hallway. All seemed clear, and I tentatively scooted out, holding the knife down by my side so that it wouldn't be immediately obvious that I was armed.

I crept along the hallway to Britain's room, and eased the door open slowly. I frowned in confusion as I saw that it was the same as ever –or at least, not redecorated by Oliver. Everything was a dull and homey green or cream or brown, and definitely something Britain would do himself. The room seemed to be empty, and I snuck in and closed the door, cursing Britain for his lack of locks.

Oh well. I'd just have to hope I remained undisturbed during my search.

The thought crossed my mind as I began searching frantically for my phone that maybe, just maybe, Oliver had transported me to the 2p!world and just cast an illusion over everything, but I quickly dismissed it. If he had, I would've been able to _feel_ the difference; illusions only worked on the eyes and, if it was a particularly powerful magician, the size of an object. As I was searching, as I was walking, even when I woke up in my bed, I would've felt the decayed, frayed, or rotting characteristics that all the materials in Oliver's world had. Everything looked, felt, and even _smelled_ normal.

So I was actually still in the _Hetalia_ world.

I felt my suspicions growing as I completed my search of Britain's room –my phone wasn't in it– and I snuck back over to the door again. Everything just felt wrong, as if this was a puzzle and I was missing a big piece of it. Why the _hell_ had Oliver just knocked me out and then, apparently, vanished? Where was Britain? And how the fuck had Oliver even _gotten_ back in this world? England, the real England, had explained the process to me exactly: the 2p threw some of the dust from their world at their double, thus establishing a connection, and then took over whenever they got close to a mirror. There was, pure and simple, no other way they could establish themselves in this world without alerting _everyone_ with the least little bit of magical power. Britain _definitely_ hadn't gotten a face-full of 2p dust, and there was no way in heaven or hell he had gotten close to a mirror. So how had Oliver taken him over?

And, if so, why the hell was I still alive, nevermind free to walk around?

I peeked around the door again, but everything seemed clear. Knife in one hand, I pushed it open and slunk out into the hallway, creeping around boards I knew that creaked. I worked my way to the basement door, then slipped inside.

I noticed that the candelabra was lit, and decided against taking it down with me: if Oliver was down there, he'd see the light. And if he was somewhere in the house behind me, and decided to come down to the basement, he would see the missing candlestick and instantly know where I was.

And there was only one way in or out of the basement.

As I crept down the stairs, I tried to shift through all the spells I knew I could perform, but realized with a soft curse that I didn't know any long-distance communication, or even any short-distance communication. Still, down here I had an extremely slight advantage over Oliver, since I had been working in this particular area for way longer than he had, and knew where everything was. I had absolutely no intention of summoning Flying Mint Bunny or any of the pixies –the most subtle of Britain's many magical friends– because there was a ten to one chance that Oliver could sense them, just like Britain, and he would probably have driven them away before he attacked me so they couldn't warn me or Britain.

If they suddenly came back, he'd know it was me –and he'd know where I was.

So, no help from the magical creatures. I reached the huge double doors, and pushed them open just enough to see that there wasn't a single beam or ray of light inside. _So, Oliver isn't down here either_. I thought with some relief, scooting inside and shutting the doors tightly. These did have a gigantic deadbolt, and I slid it home with a sigh of relief. Sure it wasn't much, but having two heavy wooden doors thicker than my head bolted shut behind me did lend _some_ small feeling of security against the 2p!s.

I turned back to the basement, and cautiously felt my way over to the cabinet, finding some candles and a book of matches. I lit the candle, feeling the knot in my chest loosen as I saw the warm glow of the flames. I then turned towards the base pentacle Britain had laid out on the floor, and quickly set up five more candles. For lack of anything else, I was going to do the magical equivalent of a shout for help and hope I got something. It might not sound particularly strategic, but I wasn't going to play Oliver's games and creep around Britain's house for an undetermined amount of time and possibly waste that time as he was off killing and taking over my friends.

The "spell" was basically a large amount of power keyed to a certain frequency, so if Oliver didn't sense it, he was a _lot_ dumber than he looked –I'd have to move fast after I completed the spell.

I took a few deep breathes, psyching myself up, then opened my eyes and held my hands out over the pentacle. The power –in this case– would work like a text or some other electric message: the power currents that this sent out would carry a "code" that meant, in essence, "help me, something's wrong". The amount of power was proportionate to the amount of urgency the message carried, so I would need to use a _lot_.

 _"Fiat!"_ I shouted, and the pentacle glowed an abrupt electric white that made my eyes water as I literally _felt_ the power slam through me and rocket through the house, across the fields of Britain, and hopefully warning Romania, Norway, and anyone else with magic that something was _very_ wrong at Britain's house.

As soon as I could see again, I was off, tearing up the stairs and taking them two or three at a time, desperate not to get cut off by 2p!England. I made it to the door and slammed it open, not caring about silence or subtlety: now, I just needed to move, and move fast.

The nearest exit was out of the dining room, and I bolted down the hallway, my stride increasing as I heard someone pounding after me. The sick churning in my gut confirmed it: Oliver or one of the other 2p!s was chasing me, not a somehow-freed Britain or someone else I knew and would be safe with.

I slammed the door to the dining room open, bolting across the open space and dodging around the chairs. I gulped as one burst apart in a shower of splinters as I passed by, a butcher knife quivering point-down in the wreckage.

 _He's aiming to kill._ I realized with a whimper, pushing myself harder as my hand hit the window, and shoved it open. Oliver –I recognized his voice– shrieked something from behind me, and-

**_PAIN._ **

I screamed and collapsed to the ground, my vision going white as the most indescribable pain I had ever felt in my _life_ washed over me, writhing on the ground in pure agony as I screamed and screamed and screamed. It came from everywhere and nowhere at once and I didn't understand _why_ , until through my screaming I heard Oliver say something again, and the pain was suddenly gone, leaving lingering twinges all throughout my body as I looked up at Oliver, who smiled and kicked the _tanto_ knife out of my hand.

"You know, that really is the finest spell I've made in hundreds of years." he said cheerfully as he stepped over my prone body and, with mocking care, closed the window once more. I weakly tried to sit up, aching in every muscle, panting hard with the residual shocks as Oliver tilted his head and grinned down at me. "I bet you're wondering how I did it, aren't you, poppet?" he asked gleefully, and I swallowed, my breath sticking in my dry throat as I glared at him.

"How?" I ground out, humoring the bastard.

Oliver cracked his knuckles like he was about to play a symphony, still grinning like a cat that had gotten the cream, then grabbed me by the collar and started walking back deeper into the house.

"Well, it wasn't very easy." he explained airily over his shoulder as he dragged me backwards after him. "You see, as I'm sure you're aware, we are connected to each other, the undergrounds and the nations. I simply made that link a bit –stronger– and implanted a few ideas in Arthur's head. And goodness, was he stubborn! I hope you appreciate this, poppet, it took a lot out of me to convince him to agree to taking you on as an apprentice."

I winced and closed my eyes. _So it wasn't just because of his pride that he agreed to France –I **thought** that had been a bit too easy for a tsundere like him._

"And then I was just slowly building up our connection, because poppet, even if you make it impossible for me to employ my usual methods, we are still linked to each other. Two halves of a whole, two peas in a pod." He looked over his shoulder and winked at me. "And I'm sure you remember what Britain told you about _that_." he added cheerfully, and I scowled at him. Britain _had_ told me about what happened when two people were magically connected –he had even used the 2p!s as an example– and explained that because they were tied by magic, it was possible, no matter what the distance, to use one as a link to the other. I eyed Oliver as he continued talking, cautiously debating putting up a struggle and breaking free.

Then I remembered that terrible pain, and swallowed hard, trembling all over.

_No. Not yet._

"-and so I gradually assimilated his mind, body, and self. Don't worry: Arthur is still around…somewhere." Oliver promised mischievously, and my fist clenched and I glared up at his back.

_Bastard._

"So I took him over, and gave you that lovely little nap tap, and, well…" He turned his head to look at me, his blue eyes tinged with magenta as he beamed wickedly. "I may or may not have put the magical equivalent of a shock collar on your pretty little neck. Don't worry, you and me are the only ones who can see it, and it also has the bonus of casting an illusion of you as you are normally –without that nasty bruise." His sickly smile widened. "We wouldn't want a lady not looking her best, now would we?"

_Wouldn't want to give the game away to potential witnesses, you fucking bastard._

Oliver twiddled the fingers of his free hand as he opened my door with a flourish. "I must admit, you caught me by surprise with that little spell of yours, so you should just stay in here while I clean that up." he scolded, flinging me inside the room as I landed on my elbows with a grunt of pain. His painfully fake smile broadened.

"Your phone is somewhere safely away from you, and those pesky sprites Arthur had hanging around are all magically warded away. Now, I _know_ you'll have the good taste to stay put for me, won't you poppet?" Oliver asked cheerfully, I scowled at him as he beamed, correctly taking it as my answer. "Wonderful! Oh, and by the by, I wouldn't recommend trying to climb out the window." His eyes glinted with malice and glee. "That little sting you felt before will be nothing compared to the shock they'll give you. Toodles~!"

The door closed with a brisk slam, and I whimpered, my head pounding worse than ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-Posted: February 7th, 2020, 3.05 PM USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: September 20th, 2015, 12.43 PM USA Central Time


	62. In Which Things Are Explained

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About Oliver being able to tell someone's diet from how they taste, I'm assuming he's that creepy type of connoisseur that keeps track of what people taste like after they've eaten certain foods. A lot of vampires in fiction can do the same thing, so this isn't me making stuff up out of nowhere.

_3rd Person POV:_

It was the sort of spell Oliver had perfected: slow, gradual, and nearly impossible to detect. His double, Arthur, hadn't a clue of what was happening, alert as he tried to be: every night, the empty space in the back of his mind grew bigger and bigger. It had taken Oliver two whole months to do it, months in which he had done practically nothing but sit still in a pentacle and concentrate, but finally, on the ironic date of Aryana's birthday, he had broken through the very last barrier of the very last corner of his double's mind, and Britain ceased to be "Britain".

Oliver had opened his ice-blue eyes, and grinned as he saw the incredibly drab underside of Arthur's bed. He had done it.

Oliver then stood up, noticing as he did Arthur's equally dull sense of style: cream linen nightshirt, plain brown trousers. He pouted as he went to the closet and got dressed: it was like his double hated having wonderful, vibrant colors, like the ones he decorated with!

Well, no matter, he thought as he knotted his bowtie expertly. He could easily change the colors with magic.

His second order of business was to go to the kitchen and get a knife. He was proud to see that, as he tested the edge of the largest butcher knife on his thumb, whatever Arthur's other failings, he did keep his cutlery at the proper sharpness. The man's house was surprisingly similar to his own, minus the bright and cheerful colors, of course: everything seemed to be in more or less the same spots, although he had spotted a lot of bare patches where mirrors had formerly hung. Oh well. He couldn't fix them now, the other nations here would notice, and question, two things that boded very ill for his newly-formed plan.

Oliver's cheerful grin twisted slightly, becoming something a bit more macabre, his blue eyes gleaming angrily. Yes, his old plan was going to be absolutely useless now. Their idea of relying on secrecy and speed, taking over their counterparts quickly and quietly, had been ruined quite effectively by a certain annoying, smug, bratty, teenage human.

He chuckled wickedly to himself as he ghosted back through the hallways, making scarcely a sound on the familiar floorboards. That selfsame American brat was going to get _quite_ a nasty surprise, come morning.

Oliver eased open the door and slipped into the room, spotting her phone on the bedside table. He slipped it into his pocket, then stood there for a few moments, biting his lip as his eyes gleamed and his fingers clenched, trembling, around the knife.

It would be so _easy._

She was asleep –sound asleep, dead asleep. All it would take for a swift, silent death was a few quick slices across her pretty, exposed neck.

His fingers twitched as faint swirls of magenta tinted his eyes, staring motionlessly down at the sleeping human. Just two or three slices, and then she was out of his hair for good. Problem solved, troublemaker eliminated, potential weak spot slaughtered. The other nations probably wouldn't even notice, at least not until it was too late, no one visited except on the rarest occasions, the job of being a nation was so stressful and most of them had meetings constantly, they didn't have the time…

So easy. No witnesses, no evidence, and no time to scream.

But…

_But…_

Oliver sighed and silently shook his head. He couldn't kill her: at least, not yet, not right away. It wasn't pity, it wasn't his conscience, and it _certainly_ wasn't mercy that prompted him spare her life right at that moment. It was simple expediency. If he killed her now, he was _fairly certain_ he could continue the facade of her being alive for long enough to fool his counterparts, and he was _fairly certain_ that he could fiddlestick them into believing that, when she did finally "leave", it would be because she rashly used some spell or another (he wasn't sure what excuse to give, quite yet), but he wasn't _positive_. And if anything, his experience with his failed plan had taught him that it was always best to be absolutely positive about something before he went through with it.

Thus, she would live. _For now._

He was feeling more than usually mischievous, and lightly hopped up on the bed, sitting on Miss Aryana's stomach and looming over her sleeping form. She muttered in her sleep and shifted a little, but didn't wake up.

Oliver's mischievous grin faded a little bit, and he lightly jabbed her with a tendril of magic, prompting her to awaken. Her mutters grew louder, and he had to bite back a burst of hysterical laughter as her eyes sleepily slid open, saw the late hour on her clock, and closed again grumpily. Then she sensed his presence, he could _feel_ her sense it, and her eyes opened again, her face turning up to him. The utter shock and horror that plastered themselves across her face was everything he could have hoped for, and his smile just grew and grew, big enough to make the corners of his mouth _hurt_.

He wiggled the handle of the butcher knife above her face, having reversed his grip. " 'Ello poppet. I do believe this is my win, yes?" he asked cheekily, and before the human could even begin to answer, he slammed the handle down on her skull with all of his considerable might.

 **WHAM**.

Oliver watched her body spasm as her eyes went out like a light, and lifted the blade up again, putting it to one side. He frowned as he saw the trickle of blood threading its way down Aryana's face, her eyes half-closed in unconsciousness…or death. He hadn't been aiming to kill, but countries _were_ rather strong, compared to humans, and he _had_ put a lot of anger into that blow.

His fingers wormed beneath her chin to check her pulse, and he smiled in satisfaction, pulling them away again. He hadn't killed her, but he may have given her a concussion.

Oliver quickly threw his legs over the side of the bed and stood, ignoring Aryana's body. He didn't give a flying flip about her condition or wounds, as long as she wasn't dead and not mutilated beyond what illusions could cover. He hummed a bit in happiness as he fished in his pocket. Those punches she had thrown just before he was "exorcized" from his double's body had _hurt_ , and it felt incredibly satisfying to dole out some pain of his own. It was a pity she hadn't felt the greater part of it, since it had knocked her out upon impact, but there was still more to come.

Oliver smirked secretly to himself as he pulled out a loop of wire.

There was still a _great deal_ more to come.

He quickly tied her wrists together, then her ankles, then rolled the unconscious human over and uncapped a very special needle he had prepared earlier. He was quite thankful that Aryana had the decency to wear a pajama top with a low neckline, as he clicked the machine on and lowered the needle to her neck, humming a slightly out-of-tune melody. The human twitched slightly when the needle pierced her skin, and a metallic _whir_ mixed with Oliver's humming as he busily tattooed a pentacle on the back of her neck.

He bit down on his lower lip as he leaned in slightly closer, squinting at the inner rings of the pentagram as he painstakingly carved out a few swirling runes on the human's skin.

_Pain._

_Punishment._

_Imperceptible to others._

_Obedience._

_Silence._

_Illusion._

_Aaaaand **Seal**._

Oliver lifted the tattooing needle and blew once, pleased with his handiwork. Then, still grinning and biting his lip, he extended his finger, wiping away the faint smear of blood the tattoo had left. He stuck the bloodied digit in his mouth, then made a face.

 _Too much Italian and fast food._

Then Oliver smirked evilly as he scooted off the bed and landed on the floor, untying her wrists and ankles as he did. It wouldn't do for anyone to see what was going on if they dropped in for a surprise visit, after all.

He dusted his hands, whistling cheerily as he made his way down the hall to start baking a batch of cupcakes. Then his smile faded slightly as he remembered that Arthur didn't bake cupcakes.

_I suppose I could make do with scones…_

_***Time Skip***_

**FWOOM**.

Oliver let out a slight sound of shock as the canister of flour slipped through his hands and clattered to the floor, the tin rattling and rolling across the linoleum tiles, wasting the white powder. His eyes widened just fractionally as he felt the wall of magic slam through him, and too quick to halt, zoom past him and out across the world. He hadn't expected the magical call for help, he'd expected her to try and run, or sneak out past him. He hadn't known Britain had actually been teaching her _magic_ , and not just the theory about it.

But then his eyes narrowed again, and his fingers tightened on the counter. He hadn't stolen the magic from his brethren and become the best sorcerer in his species for nothing. The magic was going too fast for him to stop, but not too fast for him to –alter.

He closed his eyes and sent his own magic out, embedding himself into that wavelength of power, trying to modulate it, change it, tone it down, do _anything_ to make it seem like a rookie mistake and not the frantic call for help that it really was. He couldn't fiddle around with it too long, however, because he could hear Aryana streaking through the house in an attempt to flee. He was confident enough in the traps he had set out around the house, and in the sigil he had put on her neck, but it never, ever hurt to be too cautious. He barely paused to snatch up a butcher knife before streaking down the hallway and running after the human.

Impulsively, he threw the cleaver at her as soon as he had gotten a clear sighting on her, cursing himself as it missed and shattered one of his double's chair.

 _Another thing to explain to any visitors._ Oliver thought irritably, then his smile faded just a tad and he decided to activate the seal. Depending on her natural resilience to pain and magic, it may or may not kill her, but really, who cared at this point?

A few chanted words, and Aryana screamed and collapsed to the floor, twitching and writhing in agony as a broad grin spread across Oliver's face. He gleefully took his time explaining as he dragged her back to her room, then threw her in and headed back to the kitchen, starting to clean up the evidence.

**Ding-dong.**

Oliver froze, the canister of flour cleaned and set back in its proper place, but the splintered chair and the butcher knife very much in evidence.

_Butterscotch._

**Ding-dong. Ding-dong. Ding-dong.**

Quickly returning his clothes and body to the proper color scheme, he put a frown on his face and tried to stomp with Arthur's usual ill grace to the door. He whipped it open, and his frown became slightly more truthful as he saw Norway and Romania on his doorstep.

"What the bloody hell do you two want?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-Posted: February 7th 2020, 3.18 PM USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: September 26th, 2015, 11.54 PM USA Central Time


	63. In Which We Learn of Fear

_3rd Person POV:_

"There was an urgent magical signal sent out a few minutes ago." Norway observed quietly, and England scowled, his eyebrows bristling.

"That was my apprentice. She was fiddling around with the pentacle and chalk and accidentally sent that out." he snorted, and Romania frowned slightly. It sounded in-character and plausible, but –best to be certain.

"So where is she?" he prompted, and England sighed, opening the door to them and gesturing them inside.

"I sent her up to her room. A rookie mistake like that could mean bad news, if she ever attempted so do anything _serious_." he said sanctimoniously, and the two other magical nations exchanged glances.

 _Well, he certainly seems to be acting normal._ Romania's eyes said, a slight smirk tugging at his lips, and Norway bobbed his head once in agreement, also smirking.

 _Or at least, what passes for a smirk on that deadpan mug._ Romania amended, and England led them down the hall to Aryana's room.

"Really, this sort of thing is so troublesome." Britain continued to gripe as he stalked through the hallway. "There's been enough worry about mucking about with those doubles; we don't need an idiotic American brat setting up false alarms all over the place."

Norway and Romania exchanged glances again.

 _I thought he'd been warming up to her._ Norway indicated with a twitch of his eyebrows, and Romania shrugged.

_Well, she did make a rather big mistake. Who wouldn't be crabby?_

"Alright you brat, see what you did? Norway and Romania are here, to make sure we haven't been massacred or some other nonsense, like _you_ implied." Britain snapped, whipping open the door, and Romania craned his neck, seeing a scowling and sullen Aryana seated on the edge of her bed, her arms folded across her chest.

"I said I'm sorry." she mumbled under her breath, glaring stonily at the floor. Romania remained where he was Norway actually went into the room, looking under the bed, inside the wardrobe, and in the bathroom.

"Better safe than sorry." he muttered as England frowned indignantly at him and Aryana sunk further into the blankets, her face red.

Romania sighed heavily and crossed the room, sitting down beside the human. "So, besides the mistake, how has your training been going?" he asked in a friendly manner, trying to cheer her up, and Aryana rubbed her arm, keeping her eyes downcast.

"Good, I guess." she muttered. "Britain's a hardcase, but he means well."

Romania frowned slightly: she wasn't usually this downcast. "Hey, something wrong?" he asked in concern, tilting her chin up. Aryana turned slightly pink, trying to jerk her chin out of his grip.

"H-hey man, what gives?" she stuttered, and Romania smiled in concern.

"You seem a lot more depressed than usual. Something wrong?" he asked worriedly as he dropped her chin, and she rubbed the back of her neck, looking sheepish.

"I dunno man…I miss my family, and mistakes like these aren't exactly improving my hopes." she sighed, and Romania smiled, clapping her on the back.

"Don't worry, I'm sure everything will turn out alright." he assured her, and Aryana smiled.

"Thanks dude."

Norway came out from the bathroom. "Everything seems to be in order." he stated with his usual blandness, and Romania smiled, giving Aryana a friendly tousle of the hair before standing up and walking out the door.

England made an irritated motion with one hand, closing the door sharply on Aryana's room. "So, satisfied we're not all going screaming into the pits of hell?" he asked dryly as they all walked to the door, and Romania snorted as Norway rolled his eyes.

 _"Da_ , just try not to let her make the same mistake." Romania chuckled, and England sighed as they paused on the front step.

"I'll try to keep the brat in check. Cheerio."

"Bye."

_"Ha det."_

England closed the door behind the other nations.

_Arya's POV:_

The fuck.

The fucking fuck.

The fucking _hell._

What the actual _fuck_ had he done?!

After Oliver had left, I had pulled out my journal and written everything down, then spent a futile ten minutes trying to write down something, _anything_ , to help me against the cupcake-making bastard.

Then, for absolutely no reason, I started to move, walking across the floor and stuffing the journal in my apocalypse bag. Then I had crossed the floor and sat on my bed, just in time to hear Britain's –wait, _what?!_ – voice in the hallway.

Suddenly the door opened and I saw Britain holding the knob, glaring at me as my body instantly and without my will assumed a sulky teenager pose. "Alright you brat, see what you did? Norway and Romania are here, to make sure we haven't been massacred or some other nonsense, like _you_ implied." he said poisonously, and I wanted to stare at him incredulously.

_But- but- Oliver, he-_

Then, as Romania and Norway crossed the threshold, I saw his eyes briefly change from emerald green to evilly glimmering blue, and he winked at me. I internally cursed up a storm as Romania sat beside me on the bed and Norway started rummaging around my room. _Did he cast an illusion on himself? No, what about me? I mean, there's this giant fucking bruise on my forehead and-_

Romania suddenly interrupted my thoughts by tilting my chin up, and I felt my features go blank even though I was internally cheering. Now he would see the fact that-

"You seem a lot more depressed than usual. Something wrong?" he asked worriedly, and if I had been in control of my body, my jaw would've hit the floor. I could _feel_ my skull throbbing from the bruise, and I'd looked at it in the mirror, but Romania couldn't even see a hint?

A chill ran down my spine as I realized Oliver had indeed cast an illusion on me, as I realized what the further implications of that were.

 _He can hurt me as much as he wants to. As long as it's nothing that visitors would be able to sense by touch, as long as it's nothing that can hamper my mobility, he can do **whatever he fucking wants**._ I thought with an internal whimper, ignoring my body as my mouth moved on words that weren't mine. Norway and Romania left, and my body was finally under my own commands.

Impulsively, I crossed the room and reached for my door, remembering Britain had installed locks ages ago, only to find that Oliver had put some kind of sticky substance in the lock, making it incapable of clicking.

_Shitfuck._

I knew, I knew even before I heard his footsteps in the hall, what Oliver was going to do. Running at this point would be futile: he could bring me down at any time and any place with whatever insurance he had put on me. But even so, I wasn't just going to stand there by the door and wait for my tormenter –I skittered over to the bathroom, frantically looking for something to defend myself with.

Sure enough, the door to my bedroom creaked open, and I whirled around, seeing Oliver –once more back in "his" color scheme– playfully leaning against the frame, winding a razorblade between his fingers.

"Well, poppet," he began, licking the blade and looking up at me with faint pinkish swirls beginning to melt into his eyes. "I think I _do_ owe you quite a bit of pain for what you did to hamper my plans."

He started walking across the floor, flicking the knife back and forth as a predatory gleam entered his eyes. "Now, I won't kill you yet, and I won't do anything to maim you too badly, but we do have a score to settle. Winner takes all, wasn't that what you said before?" he asked viciously, and my eyes widened as I began to move.

Oliver's foot hit my instep as I let out a shriek of pain and fell to my knees, and he twisted my arm around as I let out a choked cry of agony and keeled forward even further. Faint whimpers managed to work their way past my lips as the fiery agony of the razor slowly meandered its way down my shoulders, and the first warm traces of blood began to flow to the surface.

 **WHAM**.

I screamed again Oliver sharply kneed me in the side, jerking my shoulder even further out of place, and he slammed me to the floor, one hand knotted in my hair as he let go of my arm, and the razor carved long, deep, stinging slashes all over my back and arms. Between the screaming and the pain and the blood, I realized he was alternating the cuts with sharp blows from his elbow, fist, or foot, and my mind steadily began clouding over from the pain. I'd been beaten up before, I'd been beaten up by a 2p before, but this was worse. This was far worse because Allen had just used brute strength to hit me whenever, wherever, but Oliver was a fucking _sadist_ –he knew what would hurt most, how to eke the most pain out of that spot, and how long he could spend torturing me there before it would become numb. I slowly began to black out, and my nightmares mixed with reality until I couldn't tell the difference between either.

**The fear of the supernatural is not so much the fear of the unknown.**

_I bolted through the hallway, my heart slamming in my chest and every nerve afire, hearing Oliver's tipsy giggling behind me._

**It is the fear of the omnipotent.**

_I turned and frantically hurled a knife, but it missed, and he kept coming._

**The fear of a higher power that no human can defeat.**

_I skidded to a halt, seeing the dead end ahead of me, and I turned around to face my pursuer, my heart pounding in my chest._

**The fear of the inevitable.**

_The next knife sunk into his heart, and he barely paused, tugging it out with a sickening squilsh and a macabre grin._

**The fear of an immortal.**

_Blood dripped from the knife onto the floorboards as he smirked and slowly stepped closer._

**The fear of a creature you cannot kill.**

__

_Drip. Drip. Step. Step._

****

**That is a special kind of dread.**

_Oliver raised the knife high._

**The fear of a nation.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-Posted: February 7th, 2020, 3.30 PM USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: September 29th, 2015, 9.39 PM USA Central Time


	64. In Which Abuse is Used

_Arya's POV:_

**Beep beep beep beep.**

**Beep beep beep beep.**

**Beep beep beep beep.**

My eyes cracked open, then narrowed to slits.

Light.

I groaned and rolled over, then hissed and wished I hadn't. The beeping alarm clock on my nightstand continued to chirp, reminding me that the day had dawned and I should be getting my lazy ass out of bed and do something productive.

The alarm clock could go fuck itself –I think I had broken open one of my wounds again.

I gingerly slid myself out from under the covers and hobbled my way over to the bathroom, hissing in pain with every other limping step. I painfully locked the door: come what may, I was going to at least have this small illusion of privacy.

I managed to peel my blood-soaked pants and shirt away from my body without breaking open any more scabs, dropping them to the tiled floor and wincingly lowering myself into the tub, sucking in rapid, shallow breathes as the heat crept up my body and touched not-quite-healed wounds.

I sat in the tub, not-quite-reclining, and stared blankly at the wall opposite as the water slowly turned pink. Oliver had replaced the mirror above the sink, and my reflection stared dully back at me. My bedhead blonde hair hung over my eyes, and I had several large bruises marring my face in various stages of black and blue. That was the extent of the damage, however: my face fell within the parameters of "things that cannot be covered up", so Oliver had yet to do anything too painful there. Cuts on my body could be hidden by long sleeves and pants, bleeding fingers could be wrapped up inside gloves, and even punishments on my neck and feet could be hidden by a scarf and socks.

Winter was coming, after all, so there was plenty of reasons to wear thick layers that wouldn't let any visitors sense by touch just how damaged I really was. Seeing the damage wasn't an issue, due to the pentagram he must have tagged _somewhere_ on my body: nobody ever noticed anything out of the ordinary about me.

That part was probably the worst bit of my past few weeks.

Nobody _noticed_ that anything was wrong.

For fuck's sake, Romano and Prussia had come by two days ago, full of enthusiasm about my apparent progress with magic and getting along with England, inviting me to an "Axis family dinner" and my heart had leapt, because maybe _now_ I would have a chance to at least get away, but Oliver took over again and I found myself saying things that destroyed my chance of escape, gently hinting that I was really, _really_ missing my family and that I just wanted to get this studying done and go home. And they bought it. They fucking bought it and they left without looking back once.

That hurt.

Then, of course, I had tried escaping. Trial and error had showed that yes, Oliver hadn't been bluffing when he said he'd jinxed the windows. That left improvisation: my specialty, or so I had thought. I had tried leaving via the roof, only to find that the roof had been jinxed too. I had tried the front door, the back door, the side door, and the basement, only to find that in all four cases, Oliver had put a seal and a trap over the exit.

Once, when I had tried escaping in the middle of the night when he'd be asleep, I had managed to sneak my way out of the house and down the driveway before he either activated something or I stepped on a sigil, and I dropped, screaming in agony, before he dragged me back. I had tried making an exit, altering the ones already existing, and basically exhausted every kind of improvisation trick I knew, and not a single fucking one of them worked.

Mrs. Sarah was still working here, cooking food and cleaning up, but she never noticed anything either. I had tried communicating to her in every way I knew how, but kept getting blocked. If I opened my mouth to say _anything_ that wasn't a figment of Oliver's speech, my mouth snapped closed quicker than Italy running after pasta. If I tried to pass her a note, "England" would _somehow_ notice and ever-so-kindly take my "request slip" out of my hand and admonish me that if I wanted something, I could just ask. Leaving notes or messages didn't work either, as the cupcake-loving fuck knew every inch of the house, inside and out: where Mrs. Sarah went, the most likely places for me to leave such a note, and how to distract her so he could grab them. And I still hadn't found my phone, so texting the emergency number Mrs. Sarah had given me was a null.

I hated to admit it, every day I still tried to think of something new, but…I was starting to give up. Oliver had me cornered at every turn, not to mention the fact that he daily kicked the crap out of me whenever Britain was supposed to be teaching me magic. Every time I tried to escape, he either grabbed me before I got to the exit or activated his insurance policy and I dropped to the ground on my own, writhing in agony and feeling like I was being electrocuted to the thousandth degree.

The one thing I couldn't understand was why he hadn't _killed_ me yet, especially since he was taking so much glee out of making me suffer. I tried not to dwell on it too much, because it was honestly even more depressing than the thought of not being able to escape, but I was seriously confused –and frightened– as to why he hadn't made me die a painful and lingering death like he had promised earlier. Multiple times, actually, which made me even more edgy.

 _Maybe he's just waiting until I give in and beg for him to kill me._ I thought drearily, then shook my head as rapidly as I dared, allowing for my wounds. No way in hell would I give up, no way in hell would I actually ask to die. I didn't care what he did, _I would not give up._

I groaned as I noticed that the tub was now more pink than clear, and the water was getting cold, and shivered as I stood up, water dripping down my frame and mixing with a few of the already bleeding wounds, since Oliver never gave me anything remotely resembling first aid. Luckily, I had a kit in my apocalypse bag, which he had left alone.

I _knew_ he had searched it and removed anything that he might've labeled as "dangerous" though, because the ammo for my Colt was missing, as was my lockpicking kit, and my _tanto_ still hadn't shown up either.

I got dressed again and sighed, putting my hand on the knob and turning it, ready to face the tortuous day.

_3rd Person POV:_

Oliver hummed happily to himself as he sharpened the kitchen knives, garnering a strange look from the human Arthur had hired. He realized belatedly that maybe he was acting a bit too cheerful, and nodded towards the window. "Flying Mint Bunny said hello." he said warmly, trying to tone down his natural exuberance, and she offered a slightly suspicious smile.

"Is something wrong with your knives, Master Britain?" she asked politely, and Oliver looked down at the kitchen implements.

"Oh these? No, no. I heard something about Miss Thompson being something of a knife-wielder, and I thought I could polish these up, in case she should need something to defend herself with." he covered easily, and the corner of his mouth twitched as the stupid woman nodded, accepted the answer, and continued making breakfast on the other side of the kitchen. His excuses were foolproof for two reasons: one, the human couldn't see magical creatures, so she would have no way of knowing that Flying Mint Bunny hadn't been on the premises for roughly two and a half weeks, and Aryana was prone to waving a knife around, instead of a gun or a bat.

He did wonder about that. She was American, wasn't she? Shouldn't she be using the traditional weapons of her country, instead of blades?

Oh well.

Oliver continued humming, putting the razor-sharp butcher knife back in its slot and starting to sharpen another. _Things to do, things to do._ He still had to figure out a way to get rid of Arthur's servant without arousing the suspicions of the Queen and government, which would make the rest of his plan so much easier.

His plan was quite simple, at least at this stage: _permanently_ getting rid of Aryana Thompson. She had been a thorn in his side and a block in his path for far too long for him to merely make her vanish, or hold her prisoner. He was going to torture and torment that human to within a bare inch of her miserable life, then turn her over to his comrades. Oliver had no doubt, especially by living with them in close quarters for as long as he had, that the other undergrounds would also take great delight and thoroughness in making Aryana's life a living hell.

They couldn't spend too long with that, though. The recent setbacks and problems had caused Oliver to become far more cautious than he usually would. No more than a few weeks of torturing her to their heart's content, and then he would take her back and kill her in the most gruesome, most depraved, most painful way he knew how.

A grim smirk flitted across his face. _A fitting end for a hubris-filled human who dared to challenge the criminal personification of the United Kingdom of Britain and Northern Ireland._ He thought happily, continuing to listen to the soothing whizz of a sharpened knife as steel grated across steel.

"Master Britain?"

A hand on his shoulder caused him to turn around, and he blinked at the human's gasp of shock. Quickly he ran through the illusion over his features: hair, clothes, skin, eyes–

 _Oops._ His eyes had returned to their wonderful baby blue color during his fantasy, and he quickly blinked them back to green, arching his eyebrows forward in a petulant, Arthur-ish scowl.

"Yes? What is it?" he asked crossly, and she stared at his eyes for a few more seconds.

"Erm, well…I, nevermind." she stammered, then sketched a quick curtsy and darted out the door. Oliver's frown deepened slightly, became _almost_ truthful, before he turned around again at the sound of footsteps.

Aryana slunk into the kitchen, keeping one nervous eye on him and one on the steaming plate of food on the table. Oliver suppressed a pleased smile at her condition –beaten, battered– and nodded to the table.

"Take a seat, would you poppet? And don't move." he ordered briskly, watching her freeze in place and stare at him with frightened, but ever-so-slightly-defiant, eyes. He narrowed his own at her, and sent a warning buzz of pain rocketing throughout her system.

Aryana let out a muffled shriek of pain, clutching her chest in vain as her eyes went wide, before the pain receded and she was free to glare sullenly at him and slide into her designated chair. Oliver grabbed the handle of the freshly sharpened butcher knife and slid it out of the block, watching the human out of the corner of his eyes as he did. Her eyes were wide and round, and he watched her subconsciously draw her hands closer to herself, as if afraid he would be using the blade on _her_.

A tempting thought, that, but he really couldn't do anything _that_ damaging quite yet. Oliver was good, the best really, but even he couldn't give the illusion of fingers where no fingers existed, and she needed to at least _appear_ to be in one piece.

He was jolted out of his musings by her wary voice. "And just what are you plannin' to do with that?" Aryana asked nervously, eyeing the knife, and he smiled as he turned to leave the kitchen.

"Rearranging management. You don't mind if I make the meals from now on, do you, poppet?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-Posted: February 7th, 2020, 3.37 PM USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: October 3rd, 2015, 9.01 AM USA Central Time


	65. In Which We Pause for Punch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings for this chapter: Cannibalism (by implication), human dissection, gore, blood, vomit, and lots n' lots of blood.

_Arya's POV:_

I watched Oliver dart out of the kitchen, slowly glancing at my plate of food, then the door. Unease roiled in my gut: he'd left Mrs. Sarah alone thus far, but what if she saw something she wasn't supposed to have seen? I knew Oliver was ruthless, and I knew he was as slippery as an eel when it came to lying and excuses. What had she seen? How would he make sure she kept quiet about what she saw? Brainwash her?

He…he wouldn't _kill_ her, would he?

I remembered that chilling grin, those coldly gleaming blue eyes, and swallowed.

_He would. If he knew he wouldn't get caught…he would._

I shoved my chair back and glanced at the rack of knives Oliver had been sharpening when I came in. _Probably did something to 'em._ I thought warily, then shook my head and slunk out of the room, hoping against hope that my assumptions would be wrong, that he had just gone to wipe her memory or something like that.

 _Then why did he have a knife?_ A coldly logical part of my brain whispered to me, and I tried to ignore it. I could hear Mrs. Sarah's voice in the washing room, raised in argument with "Britain", and quickened my pace, peeking through the crack in the door as I saw her angrily putting the week's clothing in the washing machine as "Britain" made soothing motions with his hands, trying to calm her down.

I hesitated, seeing that the knife was gone, and Oliver seemed intent on placating her, not killing her. If I burst in there now, obviously upset about something, that might be the last straw for Oliver, and he would kill her out of frustration.

A small glimmer to my left made my head whip around, and I stared at one of the smallest pixies I had ever seen as she floated by the door. Her dress and glow were a bright yellow-green, her hair black and tied in a tiny, adorable braid. She made urgent motions at me with her hands, her miniature face full of fear.

I furrowed my eyebrows, trying to understand her gestures. None of the pixies or Flying Mint Bunny had come near Britain's house after Oliver had taken over: if one was here now, it was pretty fucking urgent. When I didn't immediately respond, she darted forward and grabbed my sleeve, tugging hard. I figured out that she wanted me to move just as the door handle was ripped out of my hands, and I turned to see that Oliver had gotten his knife back, his macabrely-grinning face twisted with fury, and it was raised high-

 **THUD**.

_***Time Skip***_

I groaned, feeling the familiar sensation of cold concrete against my cheek and arm. My head was pounding and I could taste blood in my mouth. I shifted to try and touch the source of the bleeding, but a wrenching sensation proved that not only were my arms still covered in cuts and bruises, they were also tied behind my back. A strained, awkward glance over my shoulder proved it was a zip-tie around my wrists: definitely no struggling. I'd cut open an artery before I loosened anything.

I whimpered and let my head fall back against the concrete, glancing around myself quietly. It seemed that I was still in the washing room, kitty-corner from the door and laid out upon the cold, hard ground. Oliver was not in evidence, but Mrs. Sarah was, and I bit back a cry of shock as I saw her tied similarly to me, but sitting on her heels, and quite clearly just as frightened as I was. She was also gagged, unlike myself, so she couldn't do anything more than make a guttural noise of concern and nod awkwardly towards my body.

" 'M okay." I rasped after a few seconds, licking my lips nervously.

"He's back." I added hopelessly, my voice hoarse with fear. "The other England. He's back."

I knew she would find it _pretty fucking obvious_ at this point, but it was such a relief to say those words, a message that I had been trying to communicate for weeks, even though right now it was useless.

I let my body relax again, going limp against the concrete, because if there was one thing living under Oliver's spell had taught me, it was that any time pain was not being actively inflicted upon me, I should rest.

It wasn't long after that, however, before I heard Oliver's footsteps in the hall and the door creak open. He had abandoned the pretense of being "Britain", his hair once more a light strawberry blond, his eyes blue, and his clothes that of a cotton-candy reject. He also had an extremely large, square cleaver in his hand, which he casually placed on the washing machine before turning to face us.

"What are you gonna do?" I asked warily after a few seconds, seeing the calculation in his eyes, and knowing that a knife of that size did not exist in Britain's house.

Oliver ignored me, pouting at Mrs. Sarah instead. "Well poppet, I hope you're happy." he sighed, walking around her and fiddling with something in his pocket.

"Just because you had to interrupt me and ruin my disguise, I had to go all the way to London to see the Queen." he whined as he pulled out a razor, and Mrs. Sarah looked horrified as he stopped behind her. It took me a second longer to figure out what he was rambling on about, but then my face went pale as the penny dropped and I remembered a certain something Britain had told me when I first met Mrs. Sarah.

_"She is on the payroll of the royal family. Even if he had been able to contact and kill her, he would have had to explain her disappearance to the Queen, in person."_

_Talk to the Queen…in person…if she disappeared…if she died…_

"NO!" I screamed, just as Oliver grabbed Mrs. Sarah by the hair and jerked her head back, slitting her throat with the razor in one smooth, practiced motion as a fountain of blood splattered up across his face. I screamed again as he blinked once, his eyes utterly cool and impersonal, and he dropped Mrs. Sarah's body as I screamed her name. Her whole body heaved with racking coughs as more and more blood spilled across the floor, and Oliver calmly wiped the blade clean on a towel, smirking slightly.

"Do you watch a lot of horror movies?" he asked me gleefully as he tossed another towel on the biggest puddle of blood, not waiting for an answer before he continued. "I don't. They're so unrealistic. Take this woman, for instance." Here he nudged Mrs. Sarah's body with his shoe as I closed my eyes and tried very, very hard not to hurl everything I had ever eaten in my life all over the floor.

I couldn't resist looking though, as I heard Oliver playing around with the larger knife, wondering what came next. He grinned as he saw he had my attention once more.

"Cutting someone's throat is not instantaneous, nor is it clean." he continued breezily, closing one eye and looking down the length of the blade. "Take it from someone who's done it before, poppet. The victim will fall unconscious quite quickly, but they don't actually die for about a minute." He grabbed the zip-tie that held Mrs. Sarah's arms together and cut it, putting one foot on her shoulder and stretching out her arm with the other. "I cut her wind pipe and several very important veins, so she'll squirm about for a bit, gasping and choking and bleeding buckets like she is now, but really, that's about it. She might as well be dead already. There's no saving her." he giggled, swinging the cleaver up. I caught what he was on about just in time and squeezed my eyes shut, wishing I could turn my face away.

**Swsssh-THUD**

**SPLAT**

**CRRRRACK**

My stomach lurched as I heard Oliver's deranged giggling.

 _Fucking psycho b-bastard._ I thought with a sob, tears leaking through my tightly shut eyelids as I heard him continue to dismember her body. The thing that really sickened me to the core was the fact that, as Oliver had stated, she _might still be alive_ as he was doing this to her, might still be capable of feeling and conscious thought.

I squeezed my eyes open, then wished I hadn't as I promptly vomited up my breakfast, lunch, and dinner, retching as I instantly tried to erase that bloodied, horrifying image from my mind. The crunching and gory sounds stopped as the maniacally-laughing psychopath realized he had lost his audience.

Footsteps approached, and Oliver grabbed a handful of my hair, jerking my face up to his and hauling me up into a kneeling position. Blood flecks and droplets were spattered across his grinning face in an arch, his ice-blue eyes swirling slightly with magenta and slitted with berserker fury.

"Oh no you don't." he hissed gutturally, his eyes gleaming wickedly. "I want you to _look."_ He stepped aside, and I dry-heaved again as I saw the corpse, Oliver's hand tightening in my hair as he shoved my face closer. "I want you to _see."_ he snarled gleefully, and I yelped as he jerked my head back and shoved the bloody knife in my face, his eyes practically glowing. "And I want you to _know,"_ he hissed, bending my head back further and further as the knife inched closer and closer. "That _this_ is what will _happen_ to _you_."

Oliver let go of my hair and let me drop, sobbing, as he spun the cleaver around and skipped back towards the bloody welter of flesh and bones which had once been a human being, laughing to himself without a trace of sanity.

_3rd Person POV:_

The tall, somewhat grungy man stood uncertainly on the immaculately clean doorstep the sound of a prosperous neighborhood surrounding him. He raised a closed fist to the shiny wood, then lowered it again.

 _This is awkward as hell._ He thought irritably, having gone through the same socially impaired raise-hand-to-knock-then-put-it-down-again-like-a-wimp routine for about ten minutes now.

He remembered why he was here in the first place, remembered the possible urgency of his mission, and finally knocked. He waited on the balls of his feet, hoping that it would be a young and obnoxious American that answered.

His hopes were dashed by an albino man with crimson eyes, and he cursed under his breath. Of all the people to answer the door, it had to be-

"YOU!"

Gillen hissed and grabbed his double's wrist as he moved to hit him. "Look, I'm not here to fight-" he began urgently, watching Prussia pause.

He nodded and let go of the original's arm. "Zere is somezing you need to-"

Gillen cursed as his alternate punched him in the nose as soon as he opened his mouth again, unprepared for the sudden attack as he tumbled backwards. _"Verdammnt,_ listen to me!" he shouted in frustration, sprawled at length in the Munich street, and Prussia glared at him furiously.

"The fuck I will!" he yelled back, and Gillen curled his lip in frustration.

"Zis is important!"

"Get out of here!"

"It's about Aryana!"

"YOU STAY AWAY FROM HER!"

"Vhere is she?"

"NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS!"

Gillen realized that they were beginning to draw a crowd, and slowly got to his feet, holding his hands up like he was at gunpoint to make it clear that he had absolutely no intention of fighting.

"You don't haf to tell me vhere she ist exactly." he allowed, watching Prussia eye him warily. Gillen felt the ominous sense of foreboding that he had been living under for weeks deepen as Germany slunk up behind his brother, but no third figure appeared. He stared into his double's eyes, trying to convey his honesty. "But ist she anywhere around England? I need to know."

The other two Germanic natuons exchanged a glance.

"Why?" Germany finally asked warily, folding his arms and narrowing his eyes at the defensive 2p.

Gillen gulped. "Oliver left our world a few weeks ago, and this world is the only place he could've gone."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-Posted: February 7th, 2020, 3.45 PM USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: October 5th, 2015, 1.14 PM USA Central Time


	66. In Which We Have Prussia Times X

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, Gillen and your accent. God damn your accent. I actually speak a bit of German, and I've been to Germany, so I know which vowels and consonants and so on and suchlike would be accented, but that doesn't mean they're fun (or easy) to write. It's like the script adapters in Hetalia say; you've got to alter it as much as you can, but it still has to be understandable. I'm sort of tottering on that line and desperately hoping I won't fall off; accents are hard. Especially when they're as thick as his is. Every sentence is just like "fuck you spellcheck, I do mean this"' and the whole document gets so confused and thinks I'm trying to speak another language. 
> 
> If you're to sort to wonder, and you're wondering why Gillen's accent is so much thicker than Prussia and Germany's, it's mainly because I didn't want them all to sound exactly the same. So Gillen accents everything, Prussia has the sporadic German insertion, and Germany has the "unds" and the "z"s in place of the "th"s.

_3rd Person POV:_

"I did say I was sorry." Prussia muttered sullenly as Gillen tilted his head back, a bloodied tissue pinched over his nose.

 _"Ja, ja,_ vhatever." the 2p muttered, his raspy voice not improved by the nasal blockage.

"So, let's hear you run through zis again." Germany hissed agitatedly, pacing back and forth in front of Gillen, who was reclined carelessly on the younger German's couch. Prussia was leaning his elbows against the back of it, sending frequent evil glares towards his double.

Gillen rolled his eyes. "Oliver _allowed_ ze magickers to throw him out of his double's body. He did zat so he would still have a connection to it, und he used zat connection to get back into your world. I came here to tell you, because I helped Aryana enough already zat I'd be considered un full-blooded traitor, so I might as vell go ze whole nine yards. I know for a fact Oliver has a very large grudge against Aryana, so it vould be best if she vere somewhere safely away from him. So, again, vhere ist she?" he asked urgently, and Prussia scowled at him.

"Zat is perfectly logical, but we have no proof that you are in fact on our side." he said ponderously, folding his arms like a sulky adolescent.

Gillen turned his head slightly to glare at his double. "Look, I'm sorry for vhatever I did zat pissed you off so much." he spat, and Prussia glared daggers at him.

"You sliced her neck open! How ze _Hölle_ are we supposed to trust you?!" he barked, and Gillen threw the tissue aside, shifting to face his double.

"Vhat the hell was I _supposed_ to do?! It vas either me or Oliver who would have done it, und at least I _tried_ to hold back!" he shot back, his fists clenching. "I might not vant to stay in zat shithole of a world, but I also don't vant to kill everything in my way, like ze others! I've thrown my cards in vith you, now, for ze last time, _I am on your side!"_ he all but roared, and Prussia and Germany slowly looked at each other, then nodded.

"Alright. We trust you." Prussia grumbled, and Gillen glared at the both of them.

"Finally. Now vhere ist she?" he asked impatiently, and the other two Germans exchanged an uncomfortable glance.

Gillen didn't miss the look. "Vhat?" he asked suspiciously, and Germany inserted a finger in his collar and tugged it anxiously.

"You may or may not be aware of zis, but right after we exorcised Oliver from England's body, Aryana was apprenticed as his magic student." he coughed, and Gillen sat bolt upright.

"She ist vith Britain. Right now." he repeated flatly, staring at Germany. "How do you know zat?"

Prussia shrugged. "We were all at ze meeting." he answered flippantly, then made a sound of shock as Gillen grabbed him by the collar and dragged him to eye level.

"Not like zat." the 2p hissed, his blue eyes wide with fear. "Did you see her, recently, personally, vith Britain? Oliver ist a crazed maniac, und he has _ein riesengroß_ grudge against her. She vill not survive for long if zey are under ze same roof, no matter how much he might need her alive." he urged, and Germany frowned.

"If he…kills her-" Here he gulped as Prussia went pale. "-he'd have to explain it to all of us. It'd ruin his secrecy, it'd ruin his plans. Even _he_ isn't zat insane-"

He was interrupted by Gillen frantically shaking his head, letting go of Prussia's collar as the other jerked back hurriedly.

"You don't know England like ve know him." Gillen whispered, his eyes going flat and blank, like a terrified child remembering a nightmare, as they moved up to meet Germany's. "He's mad vith power. He thinks zat nothing can affect him, und he's powerful enough zat it might as vell be true. He's like un spoiled five-year-old; if he doesn't get vhat he vants, he throws a tantrum. Und just like _ein_ five-year-old, he doesn't care vhat he breaks in his tantrum, no matter how precious it normally ist to him, und no matter how much he'll regret it vhen he calms down."

Prussia swallowed hard as Germany passed a hand over his face. "Assuming zat is true, what should we do?" he asked, and Gillen frowned, looking at the other two worriedly.

"First ve need to know if she ist even still alive. Did you see her recently?" he asked slowly, and Prussia scowled.

"Me und Romano dropped by a week ago to invite her to dinner. She seemed fine." he said with a shrug, then stared as Gillen pulled a grimy piece of paper out of his pocket, scribbling furiously and muttering in German as he did.

"What did she act like? Happy, sad, etc." he asked, raising his voice to do so, and Prussia squinted in concentration.

"She was a bit impatient to go home, she missed her family."

"Bullshit." Gillen muttered, still scribbling. "Aryana told me about her family ze second time she got pulled into our world, vhen I told her zat getting back to yours vould mean infiltrating Allen und Matt's house. I thought she might vant to leave a last message in case things vent vrong, you know?"

Germany nodded in acceptance. "And?" he asked expectantly as Gillen continued to scribble.

He didn't look up as he responded. "Like I said, bullshit. She isn't close vith either of her parents, zey barely talk to each other even though zey live in ze same house. She might vant to get back, but zat's more out of un sense of belonging rather zan missing anyone."

Prussia went pale. "So zat wasn't Arya I was talking to?" he asked with a gulp, and Gillen shook his head absently.

 _"Nein_ , probably vas. But Oliver most likely put some kind of hex on her, I vould if I vere a magician." he explained, and Germany suddenly frowned, holding a hand over the paper as Gillen looked up in irritation.

"If you aren't a magician, how did you get here, and how are you here without taking over _mein Bruder?"_ he asked suspiciously as Prussia's eyes widened, and he scooted subtly away from his double, as though expecting to be assimilated at any moment.

Gillen rolled his eyes and blew a strand of his unkempt white-blonde hair out of his face as he knocked Germany's hand aside and bent back over the paper. "Oliver set up sigils for us to travel to your world via mirrors, I copied one down und used it. Und ve don't haf to take over you to exist here, ve took you over before so zat you vouldn't varn each other about us. After all, ve did once exist together in ze same place und same time." he said with a shrug.

Prussia stopped scouting away, instead deciding to drape himself across the couch in a deceptively relaxed position as he watched his double write. "So, were we friends or enemies way back when?" he asked curiously, and Gillen gave him a withering look.

"Are you serious? Of course ve vere enemies: you are ze "government" side of un nation, ve are ze "criminal" side. Most of us vere fighting constantly since ve vere born." he explained, and Prussia made a face.

"Zat is so unawesome. I was hoping for a sidekick." he complained, and Gillen rolled his eyes as Germany let out an imperceptible sigh.

"Who are you, America?" the blond muttered, then looked at Gillen again. "So what is it that you're writing?" he asked as Gillen finally finished, holding the paper up to his face with a small smirk of pride.

"It's everything I know of Oliver's plan und ze best vay I know to counteract it." he explained somberly, handing it over as Germany took it and began to read. Gillen then started, as if he had forgotten something monumentally important, and turned to Prussia with a look of equal solemnity.

"Zat reminds me, do you haf any cigarettes?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-Posted: February 7th, 2020, 3.51 PM USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: October 6th, 2015, 11.51 AM USA Central Time


	67. in Which The Unknown Calls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings For: Cannibalism (mention), gore, more gore, blood, human dissection, and Oliver being a psycho.
> 
> München is the German pronunciation and word for the city of Munich, which is the third largest city in Germany, way down in the far right corner. (Down in the southeast, on a map.) I've based Germany's home as somewhere in Munich (because why not), and I've actually been there, so I'm not completely wandering around blind as far as descriptions go. It's a really nice place, by the way.

_3rd Person POV:_

Oliver couldn't stop giggling and occasionally breaking out into abject laughter as he cheerfully butchered the human's corpse, listening to Aryana sob and occasionally dry-heave as she glimpsed the neatly segmented limbs and head, the blood and gory bits spread across the floor. Really, it was amazing how _shocked_ people became when you chopped up a corpse or two in front of them.

He tossed the larger butcher knife to the side with a drawn-out _clatter_ , unsheathing a smaller knife and kneeling over the dismembered trunk of the body. The knife slid in, right under the ribs, with the familiar _schloop_ that delighted him so, and his giddy laughter increased. There was something so _empowering_ about killing someone and cutting them open, he couldn't understand why Allen or Mathieu preferred their wooden weapons to his beautiful shiny steel. A faint but extremely unfamiliar buzzing fluttered around the edges of his brain, but he was too caught up in the high of his gruesome deed to pay attention. That is, until, like a switch being flipped on-

_"-BLOODY **BASTARD** , LEAVE HER **ALONE**!"_

Oliver paused, mid-cut, his wide, grinning smile still plastered to his face, but now slightly uncertain. That had sounded like Arthur, but the very idea was _ludicrous_. He had taken over, shoved the other Englishman to the verges of his awareness.

Oliver blinked twice, then grinned wider and began laying into the corpse once more. _But the mind is a very big place, and there are a lot of unwatched nooks and crannies, aren't there, Arthur?_ He relayed, as a test, and was both pleased and irked as he got a response.

_"Shut up, you bloody sot! And leave Mrs. Arterbury alone! She's dead already, what more do you **want**?!"_

Oliver giggled, even knowing that Arya must think he'd gone (further) out of his mind, talking to someone who –to her– clearly wasn't there.

 _What more do I want?_ He repeated, prying the bloodied flaps of skin apart and reaching inside the corpse. He had memorized human anatomy well enough that he didn't even need to look as he did so. _My dear Artie, I want baking ingredients._ He answered gleefully, pulling out a kidney, cutting it free, and laying it carefully to the side.

He couldn't pinpoint it –as he said, the mind was a very large and very strangely shaped place, especially his own– but he could feel Arthur's revulsion. If the other had been material, he probably would have vomited.

 _"That's **disgusting**! You've killed her, leave the poor woman in peace!"_ his other self all but shouted, making his head ring, and Oliver, still grinning, rubbed his forehead painfully. This was starting to hurt: it looked like Arthur could still influence his body, or at least, try to, and it was giving Oliver a splitting headache.

"Do be quiet for a moment, would you poppet?" he murmured, glancing reflexively towards Aryana, who was curled up in a fetal position on the floor, as far away from the spreading pool of blood and her own vomit as possible. Oliver's headache doubled and he felt a startlingly protective flare from Arthur's portion of his mind surge through his body.

 _"YOU FUCKING WANKER, IF YOU **DARE** TO LAY A HAND ON MY STUDENT-" _Arthur raged impotently, and Oliver let out a shaky laugh, clutching his forehead still.

"You'll what, Artie?" he teased, and could practically hear his other self's teeth grinding. _You seem to forget, Arthur, that **you're** the gentleman here, not me. I can do a lot of things to her, and your allies won't notice a single one~_ he singsonged, and Arthur let out a string of expletives that would have him several hundred pounds in debt to Oliver's swear jar.

 _Oh, do relax._ Oliver finally groaned, picking up his knife and continuing to root around in the corpse. _I promise I won't do anything permanent to her for a few weeks._

He felt a ripple of nausea churn through Arthur's psyche, along with an impressive amount of hatred, as he pulled out another organ. _"You don't know your own mind."_ Arthur finally ground out, and Oliver's smile twitched slightly at the corners.

 _Oh?_ He replied, squirming his fingers through a vise of bone and tissue to search for a particular bit of flesh.

 _"You are **utterly** insane."_ Arthur hissed vindictively. _"Vows and promises mean nothing to a madman."_

Oliver giggled a little at that, and looked up through his bangs at Aryana. "I do sometimes have problems keeping my word, but I really do have no intention of harming her permanently." he said dismissively. His tongue poked out and slithered along his bloodstained, grinning lips. "Well, not yet, anyway."

Arthur remained silent.

Then he finally spoke, his mental projection quiet, purposeful, and brimming with barely-checked fury. _"What are you planning to do to my apprentice?"_

Oliver hmmed as he got the response, gotten so wrapped up in his tugging and cutting that he'd almost forgotten about his double. "What?" he asked absently, and Arthur repeated himself icily.

Oliver paused in his careful butchering, looking up at Aryana again. He bit his lower lip and grinned, looking back down at the corpse as he continued to pull out various organs. _I've had the limelight –and victim– for too long. It's time to share. My dear Artie, have you seen what my associates are capable of?_ He asked slyly, letting the images seep to the forefront of his mind in all their brawling, violent glory. Another ripple of shock, nausea, and anger surged through his mind, and his splitting headache doubled.

 _"You **bastard**."_ Arthur seethed as the memories died down, waves of anger rolling through him. _"You fucking psychotic, depraved, cupcake-obsessed **bastard**."_

Oliver laughed giddily. _She's an adult, she can handle it._

_"She's seventeen years old, you son of a bitch."_

Oliver pulled at a chunk of flesh, cracking a rib and gently pushing it to one side. _She challenged us._

 _"She didn't know how sick you actually are."_

Oliver's mouth twitched slightly in a smirk. _Haste makes waste. Actions have consequences._

_"The sort of depravities you plan aren't consequences, they're **butchery**."_

_Details, details. We're the same person, you know, so why are you so surprised?_

Oliver _felt_ the anger on that one.

 _"I would never, ever, **ever** hand a woman, a **child** like her over to those **monsters** for the kind of sick, sick… **acts** you plan on committing!"_ Arthur snarled, and Oliver giggled, his eyes glowing blue.

He knew, oh yes he knew, what kind of… _reputation_ the other criminal nations –and himself– had acquired. Rapists, murderers, arsonists, cannibals, sadists, sociopaths, and more. Aryana would be feeling all of that. The fact that they weren't allowed to _kill_ her would hold them back though –a little. She had personally angered far too many of them to die an easy death, or to enjoy her last few earthly hours before she died.

_"You're a sick, twisted man, and I hope you burn in hell."_

Oliver's smile twitched slightly. "That remains to be seen. You've grown a bit irritating, Arthur, so if you don't mind-" A fizzle of magic made his other self cry out, and he almost heard the "slam" as his mental doors closed. "-and as your lovely American student would say, _get lost."_

Oliver paused for a few moments, then grinned.

Silence. Beautiful, absolute, silence.

_***Time Skip***_

Gillen complained, Prussia noted sourly as the car purred along the Italian street towards the World Meeting place. Gillen complained a _lot_. His complaints were a never-ending loop, always circling around back to the fact that _they had no cigarettes_ , and his poor, irritating, chain-smoking self _needed_ them. The "needed" was usually long and drawn-out, he savagely noted, like a sulky child's or a whining cat's.

Gillen, it had to be said, grated on Prussia's nerves.

This was only natural. They were polar opposites, or at least, as much polar opposites they could be when they were also the same person, and the same personification of the same awesome –currently nonexistent, but he didn't like to dwell on that– country. He was prejudiced against Gillen. After all, when they had picked Romano up, there had been only one girlish man-scream at seeing a "fucking alternate _dio mio"_ (in Romano's eloquent words) on his doorstep, before the grouchy Italian had jumped in the car and promptly began muttering dark threats at 2p!England, heavily mixed with cussing at the wayward drivers in front of them. And Gillen had left Romano alone in the backseat, preferring to complain to Prussia instead from his unholy throne in shotgun.

Now, Prussia usually liked people, or at least tolerated their unawesomeness. He actively pursued being friendly (mostly because it made people a lot less suspicious of his pranking activities, but still) and he enjoyed hanging out with France and Spain and pretty much anyone else who tried to be social in his general direction. This gave him a uniquely un-irritable air, combined with the fact that it was usually _him_ who was being aggravating, so it was rarely possible to annoy the albino –in fact, Hungary and several others would say it was impossible, unless the person in question was Austria.

Austria was a league of his own, however, so he didn't precisely count.

And if he tried to be (overly) charitable, Gillen's complaining was mostly monotone and mostly in incomprehensible mutters, low enough that Romano probably couldn't hear. He himself probably wasn't meant to notice: however, he cursed his awesome hearing and proximity, not to mention his aforementioned connection to the other nation. He could hear every word, and it was wearing his paper-thin nerves down farther and farther the longer the car ride went on.

 _We're close to the meeting, und then he'll shut up and we'll all go plan on what to do about England. Do not flip out do not flip out, stay quiet, stay quiet._ He repeated desperately, his fingers clenching on the wheel.

 ** _Mutter_** cigarettes _**mutter**_ world is ridiculous _**mutter**_ idiot nations _**mutter**_.

Prussia's left eye twitched. _Screw keeping quiet._

"I've been meaning to ask this a while, but why are you so filthy?" he asked tersely, and Gillen broke off muttering –finally praise _Gott_ above– to glance at him.

"Ze water und pipes in our vorld are filthy. Vashing ourselves actually just gets us more dirty." he rasped, as if it was obvious, and Prussia snorted.

"Bullshit. Oliver und the others were way cleaner than _you."_ he sneered, and Gillen tugged a lock of dirty white hair that had escaped his sloppy ponytail, frowning.

"Zey have more access to your vorld zan me, so zey haf cleaner resources. Our country ist gone, remember? For us, zat makes me useless, und if I'm useless, I might as well die."

Prussia glared at him, his crimson eyes gleaming. "You are the awesome nation of Prussia. There is no way in hell you're allowed to be negative about our awesome self!" he snapped, and they both receded into sullen silence. Prussia glanced at his mopey double, then remembered something Arya had said many weeks ago, in a hospital ward, and felt a flinch of guilt.

_"I think he looks a lot like you, except he has scars and is usually very depressed and kinda a bit of a buzzkill. He has self-esteem problems too, I think."_

_"That me is decidedly unawesome."_

Prussia groaned and felt like slamming his head on the dashboard and/or calling West and dumping the two idiots in his car on his organizing younger brother. But _nooooo_ , Ludwig was out collecting Italy and the other Germanic nations. The rest of Europe (and Asia, and the Americas) were either carpooling or taking a plane, and, as Germany had repeatedly stressed, they were doing it in complete secrecy. Nobody who knew the human wanted to endanger Aryana, and everybody who didn't _definitely_ didn't want a repeat of the assimilation and destruction the alternate nations had brought with themselves last time.

They pulled up in front of the Italian World Meeting building, and Prussia practically kissed tarmac in his eagerness to get away from his alternate, who was staring up at the building with an odd look on his face. Romano was glaring apprehensively at the 2p, probably not altogether sure –despite Prussia's most awesome vindication– that he was trustworthy.

Prussia sighed as he moved around the car and promptly elbowed himself in the side, jolting Gillen out of his stupor. "What's with you?" he snorted as they ascended the steps, and Gillen rubbed his arm subconsciously, still staring up at the four-story mansion-like structure.

"It's just been a vhile since I've seen such a huge building." he muttered, and Prussia shrugged, acknowledging the point. In the 2p world, the largest building he'd seen was a two-story house, and that was in what appeared to be the "suburbs" section.

They entered the building as Romano flashed his pass at the guards, while Prussia just glared and levered Gillen through customs with an extremely firm grip on his shoulder. Who knew what the man from the world of psychopaths casually carried around in his pockets?

Gillen did not seem to notice, too busy staring at the admittedly gorgeous Italian frescos and various paintings that were arrayed along the walls. Romano was walking several feet ahead of them, his shoes clicking on the marble floors. Prussia nudged his double as they approached the convention room. "You don't have any weapons, right?"

Gillen gave him an odd look. _"Nein."_

Prussia blinked in surprise. _"Nothing?_ Wait, where's your sword?" he asked belatedly, remembering that it had looked a lot like his own, and he had a lot of attachment to that particular weapon. Also that Gillen had no magic powers, and unless he rejoined the underground's side, no way to get back to "his" world.

Gillen looked at the other albino askance and shrugged. "It's still in ze other vorld, of course. I didn't bring it vith because, vell, how suspicious does that look? A grown man vondering around vith a Dark Ages broadsword in _München?"_

Prussia backed up and reassessed the other man. His jeans were torn, and not in a fashionable way, and he wore that shapeless hoodie that may or may not be navy blue underneath all the grime and even more rips. The guy had, at maximum, six palm-sized pockets. "Tell me, what _did_ you bring with you?" he asked dryly, and Gillen fished in said pockets.

"Two cigarettes for extreme emergencies, un lighter, _mein_ phone, skeleton key, un ein small pocket knife." he rattled off, withdrawing his hands, and Prussia stared at him.

"No _money?_ No wallet?" he asked incredulously, and Gillen stared at him for a second, then slowly smirked.

"I'm ze _criminal_ underground. I haven't paid for anything I vanted in 300 years." he said slyly, and Prussia blinked twice, then slowly began to grin, clapping Gillen on the back.

"Well, maybe you're not so bad." he snickered, and they both looked up as Romano shouted down the hallway, ticks marks clustered thickly on his head.

"C'mon ya kraut-breathed potato bastards, stop with the sausage fest and hurry up! I want to get this meeting over with!" he barked, and they both rolled their eyes and stalked off towards the grouchy Italian and the meeting's entrance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-Posted: February 7th, 2020, 4.08 PM USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: October 9th, 2015, 8.59 PM USA Central Time


	68. In Which We Meet in Secret

_3rd Person POV:_

"Is zis really necessary?" Gillen grumbled, his hands bound together by a heavily enchanted pair of handcuffs and placed atop his head.

"Sorry about zis, man." Prussia sighed from beside him, watching Romania and Norway triple-check the binding spells on the cuffs.

"They're just being cautious." Germany added pointedly, shuffling a stack of papers busily.

Gillen glanced up at his bound hands.m"It's fine. Bit overkill, but fine." he added in a mutter, looking uneasily at the other assembled nations. "To be honest, I didn't think any of you vould velcome me. Zis is ze amount of trust I expected." he explained with a shrug, and Romania finished tugging on the cuffs.

"Right, that should hold." he muttered to himself, and he and Norway stepped back.

Gillen looked blankly at the other personified nations as they either glared, cowered, or stared back. Although he, as far as 2p!s went, didn't look particularly threatening (more like a homeless man than anything else), he was still a member of the terrifying group of alternate personalities that had nearly destroyed them all.

Russia was the first to speak. "So, you are saying that England is not the England we think he is, _da?"_ he asked with a slight frown, and Gillen sighed, nodding.

 _"Ja_ , und zis is going to be un long story, so get comfy." he explained, shifting in his chair and leaning back slightly, his arms still bound above his head. "Oliver _allowed_ ze other two magickers to exorcise him from your England's body, something about leaving a connection." he began, looking at the two who had enchanted his handcuffs.

Norway frowned slightly as Romania looked pale. "That is theoretically possible, but how is he having the power to be doing that?" the Nordic asked skeptically, and Gillen licked his lips nervously.

"Oliver stole ze magic from ze other sorcerers in our vorld. Zey're mindless husks, barely even human. I don't know how he did it or even vhat he did in ze first place, but I do know zat it gave him more than enough power to outmatch you two on your own, easily." he said flatly, and the gathered nations looked at the remaining Magic Trio members nervously. Romania and Norway exchanged long, uneasy looks.

"I've heard of the spell before, but it's only used by the most ruthless of dark magicians." Romania said eventually, as Norway immediately took out his book and began shuffling through it, muttering worriedly to himself. "And I'm not surprised at the state of our doubles. By all accounts, its…well, to sterilize the process, it's nasty." Romania continued, swallowing hard. "The ability to sense, form, and manipulate magic is an inherent ability in all sentient life: humans, nations, etc. It only takes proper training and practice to hone that latent ability into actual magical prowess. Some people's capacity for magic is larger than the rest; hence their skill as sorcerers is stronger. The spell Oliver used literally rips that capacity from the target –or to put it better, the victim. It also steals any magic the victim had at the time and any magic they're capable of gathering in the future. It literally tears out a piece of your soul and adds that strength to the spellcaster's own. If our alternate selves had the same, or even a lesser amount of power than we do, and Oliver was strong enough to take their magic, then…yes, he definitely would have been powerful enough to let us cast him out, but still retain ties to his host body." he said nervously, and the nations began to mutter.

"Right…vell, anyways." Gillen coughed, returning the assembly's attention to himself. "He let you throw him out of his host body, zen sat back to…do something. I really don't know ze details: he just told us to vait, und zat he would call us back into zis vorld vhen "ze time ist right". Ve noticed he vas gone a few weeks ago: most of ze time, ve get our food und basic supplies through his magic, und vhen ve came to collect, no Oliver." he explained, and China thoughtfully scratched his cheek.

"So that's why he's in charge of all of you, aru? Without him, you'd die of starvation." he concluded, and Gillen nodded.

_"Ja."_

France narrowed his eyes from the other end of the table. "And 'ow did that make you come to the _instant_ conclusion that Oliver had taken over _Angleterre?"_ he asked suspiciously, and Gillen looked slightly guilty.

"I didn't. I called Aryana, hoping zat she vould know something. She didn't answer. I hacked her phone, und it hadn't been used in days. No texting, no gaming, no nothing. She's un American teenager –can you tell me anything more suspicious zan _zat?"_ he pointed out flatly, and America swallowed hard, looking slightly offended as the other nations traded uneasy glances.

"There could be a lot of reasons for Arya not using her phone that doesn't point to that Oliver guy coming here. She could've lost the phone, for one. Happens to me all the time." Denmark chipped in, and Gillen scowled heavily.

The assembled nations here might be willing to listen to him, but they were all in denial. It showed with the flickers in their eyes, the shuffling of meaningless papers and the tentative excuses offered from all points. They didn't _want_ the 2p nations to come back: they didn't _want_ to have to keep looking over their shoulders.

Gillen finally sighed, and he would have folded his arms if his hands hadn't been cuffed. "Look, call up zat Flying Mint Rabbit or vhatever ze hell it is. He's your England's familiar, _ja?_ He'll tell you vhat's going on." he snapped, and Romania and Norway exchanged glances as everyone else looked at them expectantly.

"It'll be a bit hard, summoning someone else's familiar without them knowing…but we can manage." Norway finally said, and Gillen allowed himself a cautious smile.

_***Time Skip***_

Romania and Norway finished chanting as the pentacle –drawn on a spare piece of paper– glowed a bright green, starting to flutter at the edges. Gillen still sat at the head of the table, his hands cuffed on top of his head. The other nations were still gathered around the table, all staring intently at the fluttering, glowing scrap of paper. While Gillen's somewhat pessimistic assumptions were true –almost everyone present was hoping against hope that he would be wrong– there was also a large percentage of them that were seriously concerned. Arya was a friend, ally, and innocent bystander. If what Gillen was saying was true, she was in mortal danger.

The green glow suddenly flared upward, and most of the assemblage murmured and backed away.

"Flying Mint Bunny?" Romania asked in concern, and the glow shrunk, concentrating downwards until was a ball of light hovering above the glowing paper. The green ball of light then replied in an extremely squeaky voice.

_"Romania? Norway?"_

Gillen looked dumbfounded, and nudged Prussia as the sorcerers looked at each other proudly. "Is zat his familiar?" he asked incredulously, and Prussia looked at him and shrugged.

"I guess. Never saw the thing before in _mein_ life." he whispered back, before they returned their attention to the ball of light and the magicians by it.

Norway had put his book down and was squinting at the light. "Is everything alright with England?" he asked firmly, and the ball of light flickered.

 _"Oh, thank goodness! You've found out, yes?"_ it squeaked, and the assembled nations paled.

"Found out…what?" Romania tried with a gulp, and the ball flickered again.

 _"Miss Arya! The other version of England came, and he took her prisoner! There's a barrier on the house and grounds so none of us can get inside, and lately, the scent of blood has been everywhere! We're really worried!"_ it chirped, and Spain had to physically hold Romano back as Germany grabbed both Gillen and Prussia by the shoulder when they shot to their feet, levering them to sit back down again with a warning glance.

"Hey! Weird glowing orb! What's do you mean _blood_ , is the _krautlet_ still alive?!" Romano shouted as Spain wrestled him back into his chair, and the green ball of magic shifted slightly.

 _"We don't know. The last time we saw her was when a pixie managed to sneak through the barriers and try to get her away, but she said that he hit Miss Arya and we haven't been able to get inside since."_ Mint Bunny said worriedly, and Romania licked his lips.

"Does she know that England is no longer in control?" he asked, and the light bobbed again.

_"Yes, she knows. She definitely knows. There was blood-scent all over her, and it smelled like the other England cast an illusion on her too. He's probably been hurting her for a lone time."_

Spain redoubled his efforts to hold Romano down as the other began cussing freely in Italian. _"Mi tomate,_ please calm down." he soothed worriedly. "We'll help, but it won't do Arya any good if we charge in like idiots."

Romano turned bright red. "I-it's not like I'm attached to her or anything, I just want to smack that bastard in the face!" he shrieked, and those who knew him rolled their eyes.

Russia leaned over to lightly tap the glowing ball of light. "We cannot be just sitting here, either. We should go take a look for ourselves, since the little magic creatures cannot get in, _da?"_ he asked, and America nodded firmly.

"Hell yeah! No way am I gonna let those douchbag doubles _win!"_ he shouted, then blinked and looked at Gillen. "No offense." he added sheepishly, and Gillen shrugged.

"None taken."

Lithuania anxiously tightened his tie. "We should be sending in of the friends, so he doesn't get suspicious." he pointed out, and Turkey pounded his fist on the table.

"Hey, why don't Prussia and Romano go? They know her, and she knows them, and they'd have a lot of good reasons to just drops by for a visit!" he suggested enthusiastically, and Norway rubbed his chin.

"They do have a bit of a history as a trio." he murmured, and Romano scowled.

"But those bastards know that, and they'll be doubly suspicious if the three of us get together." he pointed out irritably, and Gillen piped up from his spot at the head of the table.

"Knowing Oliver, he'll be on his toes no matter who you send. It vould probably be best to send my double und Romano, since zey're used to vorking as a team und Arya knows zem vell."

Germany nodded and stood up as Romania and Norway whispered softly to Flying Mint Bunny. "Right. Prussia, Romano, you two will go und investigate what is going on at England's house." he said briskly as Prussia grinned at the sour-looking Italian. "Romania, Norway, continue trying to find out whatever information you can, but be careful. We don't want Oliver to know we suspect him." he added, looking at the magicians, who nodded in unison and bent back to the glowing sphere. "Gillen, you stay under wraps. Are ze other undergrounds likely to notice you if you're gone?" he asked, and the albino shook his head.

 _"Nein_. I'm usually in ze background, nobody notices me. Und nobody vould care if I vas gone under normal circumstances, so unless some of ze nations zat suspected me of being a traitor got news of it, I'm in ze clear."

"Who suspected you?"

"Matt, Allen, Vladimir, und Francois. Oliver vould haf been told of zeir suspicions."

 _"Ja_ , you're _definitely_ laying low. All right everyone, let's go. _Schnell! Schnell!"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-Posted: February 7th, 2020, 4.18 PM USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: October 12th, 2015, 10.24 AM USA Central Time


	69. In Which Pain is Gained

_Arya's POV:_

I don't know how long Oliver took chopping up Mrs. Sarah: I kept my eyes squeezed shut through most of it, occasionally heaving as my gut decided to rebel against the disgusting situation and I puked up stomach acid. The flow of gore and fluids eventually reached me as I tried to scoot back, feeling filthy and tainted, the taste of bile and blood heavy in my mouth.

Eventually though, praise god above, he was done, and I heard his mockingly prim footsteps click their way over to my side. I remained absolutely still and silent, my bangs hanging over my eyes as I squeezed them tighter, terror climbing up and down my spine and winding icily in my gut. Oliver grabbed my bound wrists and rolled me over as I flinched, the sticky, warm fluids on the floor soaking into my clothes. I heard a _snck_ as he unsheathed the razor again, then let out an imperceptible sigh of relief as he cut the zip-tie and the blood could once again flow to my hands.

I sat up as quickly as I could manage without seeming threatening, not wanting to wallow in the ichor and vomit all over the floor, but also not wanting to antagonize the psychopath with a knife. I didn't dare look up at Oliver, or across the room, so I kept my gaze fixed on the knees of my blood-soaked jeans.

Oliver lightly tapped my leg with his foot. "Run along now poppet, there's a good girl. I'm done with you, _for now."_ he said quietly, and I could hear the smugness vibrating in every word. Without looking at him, I got up and ran out of the laundry room, streaking through the halls and finally slamming the door shut on my room.

I quickly stripped and practically flung my clothes on the ground, shuddering all over. Every inch of me felt sticky, contaminated, and slimy with blood as I dove inside the shower basin.

I spun the knob and waited as ice-cold water poured down on me, shivering and feeling sick, the water slowly warming up as I did. My tongue still tasted foul, and I opened my mouth under the spray, gargled, spit, and repeated, my stomach churning. My hands shakily found the usual cleaning objects, and I scrubbed hard, trying futilely to wash the blood and the gore and the horror out of me. This was the first time in my life that someone had ever personally and permanently died in front of my face. When I stabbed England, he hadn't _died:_ he'd just…stopped working for a little bit. The same thing went for all the other nations that I saw, but Mrs. Sarah was human, as human as myself. And she had died today. Horribly. Violently.

And I was next.

I knew that I was next. It might not be today, it might not be tomorrow, it might not even be this week, but I was going to die. Oliver was going to kill me, and he was going to make it as painful as his sadistic, twisted mind could manage.

I shivered, and a little bit of bile rose up in my throat again. I choked it down, trying desperately to think of things that didn't remind me of Oliver and didn't make me nauseous. _Sunshine, kittens, Italy wandering around like an idiot, Mochitalia, Nekotalia, happy thoughts, happy thoughts…_ I thought with a forced smile, the corner of my mouth twitching from the effort.

**Knock knock.**

I froze as I felt the familiar swirling sensation in my already upset stomach.

"…yeah?" I eventually muttered, and I could almost hear Oliver grin from the other side of the door.

"Are you going to be out anytime soon? We have work to do~!" he singsonged giddily, and I swallowed hard.

"I…sure." I muttered sullenly, then jumped as the doorknob rattled.

"Poppet, why did you lock the door?" Oliver asked with a definite decrease of cheerfulness, and I scowled.

"I'm taking a shower, and I don't want any _males_ around." I not-quite-snapped, wrapping my arms around myself protectively. We both knew that Oliver could snap that door to splinters if pressed, and even if I somehow prevented him from doing so, there was the mirror above the counter. So my illusion of privacy was just that, an illusion: although we also both knew it would also take him approximately three seconds to break through said door, seconds that I could spend by doing something potentially escape-ish. There were no windows in here, or even air vents, so that was implausible at best and probably the only reason he allowed me to lock the door in the first place.

Oliver remained silent for several seconds after my reply, and then he giggled in an-almost normal way. _"Please_ poppet, don't flatter yourself. That's more Francois's style than mine. But do hurry up. We wouldn't want to miss our _lessons_ , now would we?" he cooed, an implicit threat underlining his words.

_If you aren't done when I want you to be, I'll come in after you, and drag you out kicking and screaming._

"Yeah…sure." I muttered through gritted teeth, and heard him chuckle and calmly walk away.

I let out a long, stress-filled sigh, and debated on getting dressed and leaving –going to a round of torture more quickly– or staying in here, procrastinating, and potentially running the risk of a 2p breaking in and seeing me in one of the most psychologically vulnerable states known to mankind –naked.

I flinched.

_Getting out of the shower it is._

_***Time Skip***_

I hesitantly stepped down the cold, smooth steps to England's basement, shivering and rubbing my bare arms. Early on, I had found it best to wear shorts and a tank top, not out of any kind of affectation, but simply because Oliver didn't give a flying fuck about slicing into the fabric covering my limbs, nor about repairing the torn, bloodied, and tattered clothing afterwards, and I needed things to wear. He had shredded six or seven full outfits before I figured it out, and although I still had most of my clothes left, I did _not_ want to find out what would happen if I ran out of non-shredded shirts and pants to wear. Unpleasant images of Oliver's obnoxiously bright and childish sense of style came to mind, and I winced, continuing down the steps.

A light flickered under the double-doors, and I made a face, gently pushing them open. The heavy wood creaked as it moved, and I stepped inside, turning to shut the doors behind me.

I could feel Oliver's gaze on my back, and swallowed quietly before turning around. He was bent over by a large rack of knives, and the healing scars all over my body throbbed in remembrance as I saw the razor-sharp blades. I slowly glanced around the room before turning my attention back to him.

Oliver had quad, sex, and probably-deca-locked the cabinet with Britain's magical tools in it, as well as erased the pentacles on the floor, practice and otherwise, so that there was no possible way for me to use any of my limited magical knowledge to try and surprise him. The books on the shelves were all written in magical languages, so unless I tried to brain him with one or something like that, they were useless. The candles lining the room were all short and thick, able to stand on their own without tipping on the cold stone floor.

I watched as he picked up two medium-sized steak knives, scraping them across each other before looking up at me again. "Hmm…I wonder, do you think I can stop before I nick any major veins with these?" he asked me wickedly, waggling one in the air. I swallowed hard, sneakily wiping my sweaty hands on my shorts.

"The hell should I know?" I mumbled, shivers climbing up and down my spine, and he grinned ferally. Before I could blink, a blur of sliver flashed past, and I let out a startled cry of pain, involuntarily ducking and clutching my bleeding ear.

I looked behind myself, seeing the blade skitter across the floor, stained with blood. The warm, wet sensation trickling down the side of my head proved that yes, Oliver had thrown the knife and yes, he had cut my ear, and I hissed in pain, feeling the crimson fluid drip down my hand.

"Bastard." I snarled.

Oliver grinned, his eyes swirling magenta, and twirled the knife still in his hand, picking up a needle-like blade with the other.

"Don't swear, _poppet."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-Posted: February 7th, 2020, 4.36 USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: October 15th, 2015, 3.33 PM USA Central Time


	70. In Which Mint Chips In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Romano's gun of choice, Google the name and then compare those images to a few pictures of Mafia!Romano. It seemed like the closest match to the bigger guns he's drawn with.
> 
> Also, I shift between calling Mint Bunny a "him" and an "it" because honestly, he's just like Tweety Bird or Elmo. Is it a male? Is it a female? YOU CAN'T TELL JUST BY LOOKING.

_3rd Person POV:_

"Why can't you come with us?" Romano whined, clinging tightly to the small pistol Germany had grudgingly allowed him to have as Prussia paced around the basement of Germany's house, picking up various weapons and putting them back down again.

"Too obvious." he muttered, carefully putting his Teutonic Knights sword back on its stand. _"Way_ too obvious." he continued, tossing what looked like a WW2-era machine gun back into a pile of dirty laundry. "Not awesome enough." he added as he dug through a pile of comic books and tossed a black whip over his shoulder, followed by a clasp knife and a cartridge of bullets.

Gillen was sitting cross-legged on a large speaker with the guitar still plugged in, smoke wafting from the cigarette clenched firmly between his teeth. The Netherlands had lent the 2p a package of them to tide him over until he found a gas station or some other source.

"I've told you zis before." the grungy albino sighed irritably, shifting the cigarette with his tongue to speak. "I can't get anywhere near Oliver vithout him sensing me, und you _really_ don't vant that to happen."

Romano clutched the pistol tighter. "But I don't wanna go in there alone!" he squeaked, and Gillen pointed one lazy index finger at Prussia.

"You've got 'im." he said dismissively, and Romano glared at the underground viciously.

"There is no way in hell I'm putting my safety in the hands of the potato bastard's older brother!" he yelped, and Prussia struck his head up from several stacks of video games.

"I resent zat remark. I know what I'm doing, I'm ze awesome Prussia!" he replied indignantly, and Romano glared at him.

"You can't even choose a weapon!" he barked, and Prussia stuck his tongue out at him.

"You can't even _hold_ your weapon!" he shot back, and Romano turned red.

"I-I'm not used to pistols! I like shotguns!" he blurted, and Gillen blinked twice.

 _"Shotguns?"_ he repeated skeptically, looking the Italian up and down. Romano's slim frame and panicky exterior were not exactly conductive to the typical image of a shotgun-wielding badass.

Romano flushed defensively. "I have an Ithaca 37 back at my place, and I know how to use it. But it's a huge fucking shotgun! There's no way I can just stuff it down my shirt and show up to a psychopath's house!" he explained, and looked at the pistol distastefully. "I fucking hate this pea-shooter."

Gillen and Prussia exchanged long glances.

"So you're complaining because the gun is too… _small_." Prussia repeatedly slowly, and Romano glared at him.

"Hey, you're not one to talk! Everything here is either a machine gun or a broadsword!" he shot back, and Prussia glowered at him.

Gillen coughed –hacked, really– getting both of the 1ps' attention. "If things go according to plan, you two von't be fighting. Ze weapons are just in case." he rasped pointedly, leaning back a little bit. "You're just going zere to reconnoiter, right?"

Romano and Prussia exchanged uneasy looks. Gillen saw the looks and sighed.

"Besides, do you honestly expect zat shooting Oliver vould stop him?" he pointed out shrewdly, and Romano looked down at his pistol as Prussia glanced at the assault rifle currently in his hands.

"Maybe not." Prussia agreed as he finally took a handgun from his desk drawer and started loading it. "But a bullet can slow the fucker down." he added viciously as he clipped it on his belt and shuffled his clothes around, hiding the gun from view. Romano nodded, an equally determined look on his face, and stored his own pistol as well.

Gillen stared at them both. "I really don't get you people." he muttered, stubbing out his cigarette and lighting the next one. "She's just one human."

Prussia gave him a nonplussed look. _"You_ helped her." he pointed out, and Gillen shrugged sourly.

"She vas just ze means to un end. She vas nice und all, but I vouldn't risk _mein_ life for her." he said regretfully, and Romano and Prussia glanced at each other, then faced him in unison.

"We're her allies. And we're her friends. It's as simple as that."

_Arya's POV:_

I stared dully at the blinking digits on my alarm clock. I was lying on my side, my arms loosely folded, my nerves too agonized for me to even attempt movement or sleep. Every inch of my body throbbed in pain: my cut ear, my scratched and slashed legs, my bandage-wrapped and still-bleeding arms, and each of my fingers –several missing the nails–solar flares of pain. It had been absolute torture to try and figure out how to wrap my cut fingers and bleeding nail beds with the smaller bandages, and in the end, I probably did more harm than good.

Oliver was getting inventive, I realized dully. Nail-pulling was something I hadn't even _thought_ he'd try out, although I supposed it did slide under the definition of "harmful but not incapacitating". He'd done the same thing with my legs, cutting with small knives, and stabbing at my feet, but not in places that would interfere with my ability to walk. The nail-pulling had also been reserved for my hands alone, and I figured I knew why: my fingers hurt enough as it was, I'd probably have no choice but to limp if he started yanking out my toenails.

And if I limped, I'd give the game away. Couldn't have that.

I watched numbly as the glowing numbers slowly ticked from midnight until one.

 _It's one in the fucking morning, and I still can't sleep._ I thought tiredly, closing my eyes. I left my mind drift, feeling the open wounds all over my body pulse in time to the beating of my heart.

**Ba-dmp.**

**Ba-dmp.**

**Throb.**

**Throb.**

**Ba-dmp.**

**Ba-dmp.**

**Throb.**

**Throb.**

I felt something warm and snuggly suddenly squirm through my loosely folded arms, and my eyebrows furrowed. That soft, fuzzy sensation felt…familiar. I squeezed my eyes open again, looking down.

My eyes snapped open wide.

 _"Flying Mint Bunny?!"_ I whisper-shrieked, snapping upright as the small glowing creature squeaked and fluttered away from me. The room was dark, and the only light came from him, my alarm clock, and the crescent moon outside.

The glowing green rabbit backwinged a little, then hovered above my nose, its tiny face worried. _"Arya? Are you okay?"_ he asked in concern, and I blinked twice.

My first, admittedly crass response, was a sarcastic _"Are you fucking kidding me?"_ , but then I remembered that Oliver had probably put up some sort of sensor or barrier to magical creatures, since he had jumped me within seconds of the pixie showing up and there had been no other way that he could've known I was behind the door. My eyes widened.

"Dude, you need to get out of here!" I whispered as loudly as I dared, throwing off the covers and darting a nervous glance towards the door. Every last open wound on my body twinged at the thought of Oliver coming in here and discovering me chatting with his other self's familiar.

Flying Mint Bunny dodged in front of my eyes. _"No, it's okay! This is just a dream!"_ he chirped frantically, and I slowly sat back down on the bed.

"What?" I repeated dumbly, still clutching a corner of the blanket, and Flying Mint Bunny circled above my head.

 _"This is just a dream! It's the only way I could contact you, since Britain's house is sealed against our kind!"_ he chirped in explanation, and I shot a glance at my alarm clock. The numbers weren't there anymore: the panel itself was what glowed.

"Right…" I muttered slowly, massaging my forehead. This was not Oliver's style, nor would he gain anything from manipulating this, so for now I was going to assume that yes, it was Flying Mint Bunny. I looked up at the glowing rabbit anxiously. "So why are you here?" I asked.

 _"Prussia's alternate self managed to come into this world and warn the others after you failed to respond to his messages! They know about Oliver!"_ he squeaked, and I literally fell back on the bed in shock.

"Gillen?" I repeated, feeling my eyes become suspiciously watery. "…how the hell did he know?" I finally muttered, scrubbing my bandaged wrist across my face and trying to will the tears away. Now was not the time to get all emotional just because I was finally getting rescued out of this goddamned hellhole.

Flying Mint Bunny anxiously settled on my lower stomach, a warm and somewhat tingly presence over my tank top. _"I don't know. He did though, he told Prussia and Romano and Norway and Germany and Romania. They had a meeting, they're going to send people to come and see how you're doing."_

I didn't like the sound of that. "See how I'm doing? They're not getting me _out?"_ I asked, my voice rising slightly on the word "out" as I sat up in panic, and Flying Mint Bunny shook his head, looking regretful as he slid down to my lap.

 _"England's other self is very smart, Miss Arya."_ he told me gently. _"They can't just run in here and break you out; he probably has a contingency plan to counteract that, which might end very badly for you all. They're coming by to find out how things stand, what Oliver's done for defense, that sort of thing. They'll get you out later though, I promise!"_ he squeaked bravely, and I nodded vaguely, still trying to quell my crushing disappointment.

"Right…" I muttered again after a few moments, gingerly resting my bandaged fingers on top of Mint Bunny's head and stroking. "So, they're gonna come in here, find out what's going on, and then get me out? What about Oliver?" I finally asked, my eyes narrowing. I had spent roughly a month in close quarters with that psychopath, and I _definitely_ didn't want him wreaking havoc in this world, more so than before.

The glowing rabbit squirmed a bit, pressing up against my fingers with a soft, vibrating hum. He obviously liked being petted. _"Hmm…oh, that's right!"_ His adorable beady little black eyes suddenly opened, and he fluttered out of my lap, although he looked reluctant to leave the petting and snuggles.

Flying Mint Bunny hovered above my nose, an urgent look on its fuzzy adorable face. _"I came to show you something! It might help against the other England!"_ he squeaked, and I blinked twice.

"How?" I asked hopelessly, remembering all my escape attempts, and all the safeguards Romania and Norway and England had tried to put up, all of which had failed miserably. Flying Mint Bunny saw the despairing look and lightly bopped my nose with his paw.

 _"Don't give up Miss Arya, please!"_ it begged. _"The only way for you to win here is for you to keep fighting! You know how the other England erased all of the books and things that talked about the criminal undergrounds?"_

"Yeah…" I answered slowly, then blinked. "Wait, are you telling me he missed something?"

Flying Mint Bunny shook his head, a depressed droop coming over his tiny body. _"No, we think he got all of them. But there is a book in England's library that he might've missed that might be able to help us."_ he chimed, brightening again as he said the second sentence. I frowned at him skeptically.

"That's a lot of "might"s to bet my life on." I told him flatly, and he circled around my head frantically.

_"No, really! We think it might have something useful in it! You know that Oliver destroyed all books pertaining to the **undergrounds** , right? Well, what are the undergrounds?"_

I squinted in thought. "The…darker…halves?" I guessed slowly, and he nodded excitedly, still circling.

_"Exactly! They're the dark, alternate, evil sides of the normal nations! The book that England has talks about how to deal with the mistakes and consequence of **mirror magic**. It's been a while since Arthur browsed over that section, but I do remember that one of the accidental things you can do with mirror magic is to make physical alternate personalities!"_

I was beginning to see the idea here. "And so there must be something on "another half" personality in there, right? Or at least, something on darker sides of yourself?" I asked slowly, and Flying Mint Bunny nodded brightly.

 _"Yup!"_ he answered proudly, and then his ears drooped slightly. _"But…you're going to have to do an astral projection to find it. Has Britain taught you to do that yet?"_ he asked, tilting his head slightly to look at me as I stared blankly back at him.

"Uh…no?" I tried weakly, racking my brain. _Astral projection…astral projection…wait, isn't that when you spirit-walk? Like, when you detach your soul or mind or whatever it is from your body and just sorta drift around?_

Flying Mint Bunny anxiously landed on my head. _"Astral projection. It's when you project your spirit from your body –it's what we're, well, you're, doing now. Your body is asleep, but your spirit is in the in-between place, with me. We're going to have to go through the house, and I don't know if the other England will be able to sense that."_ he told me worriedly, and I gulped.

"What happens if he does?"

Mint Bunny remained silent for a few seconds. _"…technically, a spirit can be separated from its body and held captive, somewhere. The body will fall into a coma, and if not properly cared for, like all coma victims, it'll eventually die."_

I could read between the lines.

"Great…" I mumbled, rubbing my forehead. "Well, fuck. I'm probably gonna die anyway. Lead the way, Mr. Mint Bunny, sir." I told him, and Flying Mint Bunny burrowed into my hair, his tiny paws wrapping themselves in my bangs.

 _"Well, first of all, we need to get to the basement."_ he cheeped as I felt his wings flutter encouragingly, and I sighed, getting out of bed and creeping to the door. I was about to open it, but I was startled when my bandage-wrapped hand simply went through the knob. With Mint Bunny's encouraging presence on my head, I hesitantly put my foot forward and stepped right through the door.

Glancing over my shoulder as I stepped into the hall, I saw my door still closed and, to all appearances, completely solid.

I shuddered.

 _That's surreal as hell._ I thought as I moved down the hallway.

Everything was dark, since Oliver never left lights on and, as previously stated, the moon had waned to an extremely thin crescent. Flying Mint Bunny's soft green glow lit the air above my head, giving the whole walk an eerie, dreamlike quality.

"So, I'm still asleep? Is this still like a dream?" I asked Mint Bunny in a whisper as I eased through the darkness, and I felt him shift slightly on top of my head.

_"Kind of. It's halfway between a dream and an astral projection: you can't do an astral projection on your own yet, so I'm helping you along with my powers."_

"I was more wondering on whether or not I should try to be quiet."

Flying Mint Bunny kept quiet himself as I snuck down the hallway, then cautiously replied. _"People astral projecting can influence the real world: knock things over, throw objects, pick stuff up. Its where a lot of the myths about poltergeists and ghosts originate from. You're only in the halfway point, so you probably can't influence material objects…probably. Stay quiet just in case?"_

"Hell yeah."

I gingerly slipped through the door to the stairway, still uneasy about this whole projection thing. "So what does this book look like?" I whispered, sneaking down the ice-cold steps as Flying Mint Bunny's glow lit the grey stone around us.

 _"If I remember correctly, it's a tall, thin blue book with flaps that fold outwards, so you can check the incantations and symbols you used. It should be in the clutter on the floor; Arthur only puts the books he needs and reads on the shelf by the door."_ he explained softly as I faded through the double doors.

It was kinda odd: everything looked more or less the same as it did when I was awake, but when I looked closer, there was no detail at all. The clocks hanging on the walls upstairs had no numbers or dashes, just black little smudges, and Britain's chairs, which had little gold decals on the back, were blank.

And, most importantly for our purposes, when I stopped freaking out about my un-solidness and looked around, none of the books had titles: just vaguely formed smears in the corresponding colors.

"Which book is the right one?" I whispered frantically, glancing over the volumes buried beneath both each other and the crates scattered about the room. I felt the tingling in my scalp decrease a miniscule amount as Flying Mint Bunny leaned forward, fluttering his wings slightly to keep himself balanced.

 _"Again, it should be a tall, thin blue book, like a pamphlet or a map. The title was in black. It should be about a half-inch thick."_ he rattled off patiently, and I nodded, giving the room a once-over.

"Well, this is obviously gonna take a while. Why don't we split up?" I said as quietly as I could, and I felt the warm, comforting presence detach itself from my head as Miny Bunny fluttered over to the far corner.

_"Good idea, Miss Arya! You start from the doors and work towards the back: that way, in case the other England comes down, you'll be getting farther and farther away from him as you work instead of closer and closer. I'll start from the back and work my way towards the doors, okay?"_

"Sure thing, dude."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-Posted: February 7th, 2020, 4.48 PM USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: October 18th, 2015, 6.56 PM USA Central Time


	71. In Which We Ponder, Weak and Weary

_Arya's POV:_

Multiple hours had passed and still, no joy. I was beginning to work feverishly, glancing frequently toward the big double doors as Flying Mint Bunny glowed and hovered, flitting from one stack of books to another in the search for the thin blue book.

 _"When does the other England wake up?"_ he asked nervously as I ghosted through a box, since I was unable to push it aside.

"I don't know! He was always up before me, even when Mrs. Sarah was around!" I hissed worriedly, glancing towards the doors again. "Was England a morning person?" I asked quietly as I squinted at another stack of badly piled volumes.

Flying Mint Bunny nudged a crate to the side. _"No. He always liked to sleep on schedule and greet the day in his own good time. Why?"_

I cursed as I moved over to another stack. "That means that Oliver is probably an early bird." I explained, and the urgency in our movements increased visibly.

Another thirty or forty minutes passed, and then I felt Flying Mint Bunny zoom over to me and clutch my hair with his tiny paws. _"Alright, you need to go back now! We don't know when the other England wakes up, but I'm sure it'll be soon, and we really don't want you to get caught! I'll keep looking, but we need to get you back in your body before he notices you aren't!"_ he squeaked urgently, tugging on my hair gently, and I nodded, letting him tug me back over to the doors. He wrapped his tiny paws tighter in my hair, and then everything blurred and turned dark as I felt myself compressed into a small ball, rocketing along the paneled hallway and then feeling a chill flash up my spine and pierce my entire being as we shot past something _dark_ and adrenaline shot through me as I moved faster and faster-

My eyes shot open and I jolted upright with a gasp, my heart pounding. The slightly blood-smeared blankets slithered down to rest at my waist, and my eyes swept the room.

 _Was that…a dream?_ I thought slowly, looking blankly at my clock, which read 6.30 AM in blinking red numbers. I felt even more unusually exhausted than I did whenever I woke up this early, but whether or not that was indication of astral projection…

The door suddenly pushed open, and I whipped my head up, seeing Oliver tilt his head through the crack. A wide smile was affixed to his face, but I could easily see that it was a façade, just as fake as a carnival mask.

" 'Ello poppet! And how are _you_ this fine morning?" he greeted, his icy eyes narrowing slightly on "you", although his smile remained wide as ever. I remembered the stomach-plunging chill –probably Oliver himself– that I had passed on the way here, and gulped.

"Fine…" I said uneasily, my fingers tightening on the blankets as I looked down at my knees. Britain had always been very conscientious about my privacy, but Oliver had absolutely no such qualms about popping his head in whenever the mood struck him. _Probably because he actually **does** need to keep an eye on me._ I thought bitterly, and Oliver interrupted my musings with a bright and slightly ominous grin.

"Really? You've been staying in your room? No wandering about, no using-" Here I could have sworn I saw his eyes tinge magenta. "- _magic_ , have you?"

Unseen by him, my fists tightened under the blankets. "No…you've made sure of that." I muttered sullenly, and I felt his slightly crazed but still utterly controlled gaze linger on me for a few more seconds, before I heard him move away and close the door without speaking.

My heart in my mouth, I waited for six or seven more seconds after he had left before I let my breath out in a slow, controlled whoosh of relief. Oliver might not particularly care what I did when he wasn't watching me –in fact, I think he gleaned some kind of sick enjoyment from my desperate bids for freedom– but I did know that he let me try to formulate those escape attempts because he knew, or he thought he knew, there was nothing I could do that would work. And he was right, up until a point: before Flying Mint Bunny had showed up, I really had been hitting rock bottom.

But he _had_ showed up. And now all I had to do was wait through breakfast, then run downstairs and help Flying Mint Bunny get the book, and then stuff it in my apocalypse bag and wait for the visitors to show up. And then we would all plan something out and kick Oliver's cotton-candy ass to kingdom come, happy ending, la la la.

I had to play it cool though: if Oliver found out what we were planning, I was screwed six ways to Sunday.

I kept this in mind as I showered, rewrapped my bloodied bandages, and got ready to face the day. _Act scared and sullen. Don't look hopeful. Remember, there is no way out, and he might kill you at any moment. Calm thoughts, calm thoughts. I got this._ I thought determinedly as I crept towards the kitchen, uncertain of just what the hell Oliver would be feeding me.

I peeked my head around the door, swallowing hard at the sight of Oliver calmly reading a newspaper, slurping something from one of England's fancy tea cups.

A tiny, terrified smile crept onto my lips. It was so mundane and simultaneously ridiculous to see Oliver Kirkland, 2p!England, murderer of God-knows-how-many-people, eater of human flesh, calmly sitting at a kitchen table, drinking his morning tea and reading the paper.

The mundane aspects were slightly stilted, I noticed as I passed him on the way to my seat –the teacup was filled with something that was such a vivid crimson that blood _had_ to have been involved, and Oliver was scanning over the "missing persons" part of the paper with a smug, satisfied smile on his face.

"Your food is right there." he reminded me absently, flicking a corner of the paper at a plate of scones, eggs, and bacon sitting innocently by my place at the table. I glanced at it warily as I sat down, then looked up at him.

Oliver's eyes sparked ominously, and he got up and walked around the table to stand by my chair, a smile twitching and tugging at the corner of his mouth, his teeth practically embedded in his lower lip. I looked back at the plate again and saw that most of the food was homemade, probably fresh.

"…you know what, I'll pass." I muttered queasily after a few seconds, getting up again, but Oliver placed his hand on my shoulder, his fingers wrapping tightly around the recently-made wounds until I let out a muffled whimper of pain.

"Oh no you don't." he cooed around a plastic smile. "A growing girl like you needs her food, poppet. Why don't you sit back _down?"_

It definitely wasn't a question: it was more of a command, and I yelped as he shoved me back down in my chair on the word "down", my ass meeting the wooden seat uncomfortably hard.

I looked at the plate and swallowed again, my stomach roiling as Oliver kept his hand on my throbbing shoulder, holding me firmly in place. The eggs and bacon continued to steam innocently, and the scones –unlike Britain's– looked fairly delicious. But it was Oliver's food. _Oliver's food._ His insistence, bordering on threats, to keep me in my chair meant that yes, he had probably put something extremely nasty in my breakfast, and yes, he didn't care if I knew it.

I twisted my neck around to glare at his predatory, gleaming blue eyes. "Look buddy, I ain't stupid, and I am _so_ not eating whatever poison-drug cocktail mishmash you put in front of me. I don't wanna die." I hissed at him, and his smile broadened.

"Why poppet, I'm offended! Do you really think I would poison someone as cute and cuddly as you~?" he trilled, obnoxiously fake, and fondly pinched my cheek like an affectionate grandmother. I twisted away from his pinchy fingers –I couldn't do anything about the hand on my shoulder– and glared at him, wishing with every ounce of my being that looks could kill.

"Drop dead." I hissed, and his smile twitched, becoming faker by the moment.

"I'm just trying to look after you, we wouldn't want you to die before we got to the main event, would we?" he cooed, actually rubbing his cheek against mine in his mockery of attachment.

I twitched, murderous thoughts rising to the forefront of my mind. If I wasn't 90% sure it wouldn't have led to my instant and painful demise, I would have punched his sneering face in right then and there.

"If you removed your fingernails from my clavicle, maybe I'd believe you." I muttered shortly after a few seconds, tersely wondering what the "main event" was, and he looked down, noticing –as I had known for an extremely painful two minutes– that he was actually squeezing my shoulder so tightly he had broken the skin with his manicured nails.

"Ah! I am so sorry about that." Oliver droned sweetly, then tightened his grip as I bit back a whimper.

"Very well then," he sighed after a few moments of silence from me made it clear that I was not going to touch the food unless forced. "Since you're _insisting_ on being such a stubborn little cupcake-"

His sickly sweet voice suddenly darkened, and Oliver dug his nails viciously into my shoulder again as I let out a muffled shriek.

"Eat the food or I shove it down your throat. And I won't stop if you start choking." he hissed, and I swallowed hard, looking tremulously at the plate.

Slowly, tentatively, I reached forward, picking up a scone. Oliver's grip on my shoulder correspondingly loosened, and I brought it towards me, looking at the innocent pastry like I was about to be sick. "What, exactly, is in this, besides the normal ingredients?" I whispered suspiciously, and Oliver patted my head, mockingly, with the hand not embedded in my flesh.

"Nothing~!" he singsonged, and then lightly squeezed my bleeding shoulder. "Now eat up before it gets cold!"

It was by far the most bizarre –and nerve-wracking– meal I had ever eaten. I didn't trust or believe Oliver as far as I could throw him (and I dearly wanted to find how out far that was), but I really had no choice except to eat. I knew full well that he was perfectly willing and able to make good on his threat of forcing the food down my throat, and doubly so with the bit about me choking. So I shoveled down the eggs and bacon, and tentatively nibbled on the scones, taking tiny, cautious sips of the tall glass of milk he had placed by the side of the plate.

After about ten, fifteen, twenty minutes, I swallowed thickly, staring at the mostly-empty plate as my head swam.

"Something wrong?" Oliver asked sweetly as his nails lightly squeezed my shoulder, reminding me to keep eating.

"I feel sick." I muttered, feeling a trickle of sweat run down my collar, stinging at the open wounds there. I _felt_ freezing, but I was sweating bullets, and as I brought my free hand to my forehead, my fingers began to twitch uncontrollably. "The fuck did you do?" I croaked, and Oliver tutted, squeezing my shoulder hard one last time before letting go completely.

"Poppet, I've told you countless times." he began wearily as he moved behind me, shuffling around at the counter.

I yelped as a butter knife suddenly slammed into my leg.

" _ **Do not swear**_." Oliver hissed ferally from behind me, then yanked the knife out as I began to bleed sluggishly, and I groaned, trying to blink away the splitting headache that was encroaching on my brain as I cradled my forehead, resting my arms on the table.

Oliver calmly and lightly ruffled my sweaty hair, taking the plate and glass away from me. "Don't worry poppet." he told me breezily. "The dosage won't kill you…probably. I just simply found your late-night activities to be a bit suspicious, and the explanation you came me this morning was not convincing at all." I could vaguely see his sickly sweet smile, slightly distorted in my warped vision. "This was the most convenient way to sedate you."

"Could've…used…an actual…fucken' sedative…" I slurred, and I heard his giggle as if it was a thousand miles away.

"Oh, but that wouldn't be any _fun_. You should go to _sleep_ now poppet, you look _awful."_

Blackness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-Posted: February 7th, 2020, 4.55 PM USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: October 22nd, 2015, 1.12 PM USA Central Time


	72. In Which it is Time to Rhyme

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The stuff Oliver's humming is totally legit, I didn't make them up or anything. Buncha spoooooky nursery rhymes that I looked up, I believe. Search the internet enough, and they'll probably be there somewhere.

_Arya's POV:_

Sound filtered in, although right now all I could hear was the soft rustling and scraping that the semi-bare trees outside produced in the late-October wind, and I slowly forced my eyelids open.

I was still slumped over at the kitchen table, my arms folded across the wood and my head pillowed on my left elbow. My mouth tasted like metal, and I still felt woozy and nauseated. Glancing at the clock on the wall above the stove, I realized that it was already one in the afternoon: I'd been unconscious for at least six hours.

I blinked twice, and then groaned, rubbing my forehead and trying to ease the migraine that had returned full-force with my awakening. _Flying Mint Bunny would've definitely finished looking by now._ I remembered hazily. _If he's finished looking, then I should go down to the basement and get the book. The book to help get rid of Oliver. The book that will help me escape._

Somehow, despite how enthused I had been prior to my breakfast, the thought of leaving barely got me out of my chair and staggering out of the kitchen. The muscles in my legs (and arms) kept convulsing as I moved along the hallway, and I had to hold onto the walls to keep myself upright. The very real thought that I might die ran in circles, around and around my head, especially whenever my legs gave out.

 _What the hell did he give me?_ I wondered for the thousandth time as I slumped against the wood paneling, finally within reach of the basement doors. My knowledge of poisons was limited at best. I vaguely remembered Oliver threatening me with cyanide on several previous occasions, but wouldn't that have killed me by now?

I shook my head slightly, trying not to upset my stomach further, as I began to limp down the stairs.

_Don't think about that right now, just find the book._

I just about fainted with relief (or exhaustion) when I saw the huge double doors, and pushed them open recklessly. I didn't care if Oliver was in the basement right this very minute, working magic: I was half-dead anyways.

To my surprise –and joy– I saw a tiny green flicker above a pile we had shifted through dozens of times. "Mint Bunny!" I whisper-shrieked, and wobbled slightly, my head swimming, as the green flicker headed my way.

 _"Miss Arya! What's wrong?!"_ he squeaked worriedly, flying in circles around my already spinning head.

"Oliver." I muttered, closing my eyes in a vain effort to keep focused. "Made me eat his food."

I felt something tap my forehead with the light, buzzing tingle distinctive to all the magic creatures, and Flying Mint Bunny squeaked in alarm. _"Arsenic! It's arsenic poisoning!"_ he exclaimed, and I struggled to think of what that would mean, my eyes still squeezed tightly shut.

"Wait… isn't arsenic _fatal?"_ I croaked suddenly, my eyes snapping open, and I felt the faint sensation of Flying Mint Bunny's paws running through my bangs.

_"It depends on the dose. If it's a large amount in a single sitting –like a meal– then yes, it's fatal. If it's a smaller amount, and just one time, then it'll only make you very, very sick. If he's been feeding you these types of meals for a while, it'll start to accumulate until you have the affects of one large dose…"_

He trailed off uncertainly, and I queasily shook my head. "Nah…so far, 's the only time I've eaten his so-called food. Am I gonna die?" I asked nervously, and I felt his paws continue rubbing at my temples. The symptoms slowly began to abate as he did.

_"No…I don't think so. He didn't give you enough to kill you, or at least, not right away. You'll need a doctor though. Definitely. He might've given you enough to kill you slowly."_

"Great…" I muttered sarcastically, Flying Mint Bunny's influence either withdrawing or temporarily erasing the symptoms of my poisoning. Then I looked up, glancing at the pile of books Mint Bunny had been hovering over. "Did ya find the book?" I asked, my voice still hoarse, and the green flicker moved towards the pile.

 _"Yes, I did! It's right here, come look!"_ he called urgently, and I quickly stumbled over, shoving books to the side and kneeling down as Flying Mint Bunny landed on a thin blue book that looked a bit like an elongated travel brochure. _"This one! This one!"_ he cheeped urgently, and I snatched it up, barely glimpsing the title _"Mirror Magery; Errors and Conjuncture"_ before I was stuffing it down the leg of my jeans to hide it.

I looked up at Flying Mint Bunny again. "Listen, Mint, when are the others coming to see me?" I asked nervously, glancing towards the stairs. I didn't fancy getting caught by Oliver with one of the only books that could (possibly) beat him in the manner that he so thoroughly deserved.

The ghostly image of the fluffy green rabbit looked mildly concerned, and fluttered around my head. _"I don't know."_ he said hopelessly, and I bit my lip, looking at the doors.

"Alright, you, stay hidden, and I'll see if I can sneak upstairs and hide this in my bag. Oliver's already looked through it and gotten rid of the dangerous stuff, so at least it'll be somewhat safe." I muttered, and Flying Mint Bunny flew over and snuggled in my hair again.

 _"Good luck, Miss Arya. Stay safe."_ he wished me, and then faded away as I moved towards the stairs.

_3rd Person POV:_

Oliver hummed happily to himself, skipping around the house and carefully dusting off all the items. Most people would have found it boring, himself included, but today, he was in an extraordinarily good mood.

 _"A man of words and not of deeds, is like a garden full of weeds~"_ he crooned, picking up a book and dusting under it. He had to keep Arthur's home nice and tidy, like his double had left it, or someone might discover something unpleasant. _"And when the weeds begin to grow, it's like a garden full of snow."_

He had to admit though, dusting someone else's knickknacks, especially the tasteless ones Arthur collected, was usually monotonous and irksome. Today, however, after giving Aryana that _delightful_ breakfast and watching her pass out, not to mention having the day completely free of that bothering human Arthur had hired, _well_ , Oliver just had the urge to _sing!_

_"And when the snow begins to fall, it's like a bird upon the wall~!"_

Really though, she had been so irritating. He was glad that he'd butchered her: now her remains would serve a far more useful purpose, namely, the making of his delicious cupcakes. Although…

Oliver grinned. He was the only one to appreciate the "red velvet" type.

_"And when the bird away does fly, it's like an eagle in the sky!"_

Whenever he offered them to his allies, Allen had this vexing habit of throwing them to the ground and swearing, calling them "disgusting, meat-filled abominations", while Matt refuted, deadpan, his "un-cannibalistic status", and Francois and Viktor refused point-blank to even touch the yummy pastries.

 _"And when the sky begins to roar, it's like a lion at the door!"_ he sang happily, sliding the vacuum over the living room rug. Still though, _he_ appreciated his "red velvet". Though if he wasn't careful, a fingerbone might occasionally find its way in, but still, on the whole, he really loved them.

,em>"And when the door begins to crack, it's like a stick across your back…"

He really should start making those cupcakes soon. Today would be ideal. His… _ingredients_ were usually best when fresh. In fact, fresh was really the only way to eat them. After watching all of those nasty zombie movies with his dearest Allen, rotting flesh lost what little appeal it had.

 _"And when your back begins to smart, it's like a penknife in your heart…"_ Oliver crooned absently, giving the room one last once-over before heading to the kitchen, still –regretfully– with Arthur's face, form, and voice. He briefly wondered how odd it would be for someone spying on him, to see Arthur cavorting around his house while singing and doing chores, then smirked and shrugged dismissively. There was no one watching. He'd know if they were.

 _"And when your heart begins to bleed, you're dead, and dead, and dead indeed~"_ he finished happily as he tied the apron behind himself in a neat bow, dusting his hands and turning to the oven. A brief thought flickered through his mind as he began preparing to make the cupcakes –for this particular…flavor…required a bit more preparation than the average pastry. After he and the others were done with Arya, would they appreciate it if he made these kind of cupcakes in her… _flavor?_

Oliver pondered that as he pre-heated the oven. This particular type of cooking did favor…younger…ingredients, and she was a freshly-turned seventeen-year-old. That always did taste a bit better, but then again, he really was the only one who appreciated cupcakes made with that particular type of…meat.

Well, it was just a thought, and he could always check with the others to see if they wanted any.

His cheerful musings were interrupted by Arya slinking through the kitchen, and immediately, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. He'd given her enough arsenic to put her out for six or seven hours: she'd still be feeling sick afterwards, too. Very sick.

 _So,_ the coldly logical part of his mind wondered, _what had she been doing down the hallway? The only things down that way were more spare bedrooms, the basement, and…_

Oliver's eyes widened slightly, and he bit his lip.

 _The magic room._ Had Aryana being doing something these past few days? He knew, he _knew_ that he had nearly caught her astral-projecting earlier. Why would she have done something so _risky?_ It would have to be something that had a lot of benefit in it for her…something like escaping…

Or besting him.

The corner of Oliver's eye twitched, and his hand strayed towards the rack of razor-sharp kitchen knives. He didn't like the thought, but there it was. He knew he probably wouldn't have been able to keep control of Aryana for as long as he liked. Eventually there would be a point where her ingenuity became too worrisome, where the consequences of allowing her too-knowledgable mouth to open would become too much for even him to clean up. And when that time came…

Oliver licked the edge of one of his favorite knives, and felt a tingle of exhilaration run through him, starting from his fingertips and winding all the way down to his stomach. However, something else uncoiled in his mind as well.

_Jack the Ripper's dead,_

_" **Oliver**. You said you wouldn't kill her. You **swore** you wouldn't."_ Arthur hissed from the recesses of his mind, and Oliver paused, looking longingly at the steak knife.

 _That's true…I did…_ he replied reluctantly, then brightened and ducked under the cupboard, shuffling around for a certain special something in the place beneath the sink. He pulled it out with a wicked smile, and felt Arthur reel in shock: a drug needle, filled with an ominous fluid that actually glowed, slightly, in the afternoon light.

 _"And what… **exactly** is that?"_ Arthur growled slowly, and Oliver smiled slyly.

"Well, I did promise not to kill her. Let's just say it's something to send her… _home_."

_And lying on his bed,_

Arthur remained silent for a few moments, but as Oliver got to his feet, he spoke again, anger clear in his voice. _"You aren't sending her to **her** home."_ he growled, and Oliver giggled, stowing the needle in his pocket as he skipped out of the room.

"Well, of course not." he chuckled, shoving the thick wooden door open and catching sight of his quarry ascending the stairs. "Oh Arya~!" he called energetically, and she froze solid.

Oliver's grin twitched slightly at the edges, and his eyes darkened subtly. After several weeks in close quarters with his prey, he knew that she would only do that if she had a guilty conscience –if his suspicions were correct.

"Could you hold on for a moment?" he crooned, talking his dear sweet time waltzing over to her. He knew she wouldn't dare run: it'd be an admission of direct guilt, even though he already knew.

_He cut his throat_

Arya had composed herself before turning around, and Oliver felt another electric thrill run through him. Arthur felt it too, and renewed his (futile) efforts to make the 2p _stop, **wait** , slow down, _do something, _anything_ but inject that fluid into her that would in essence end her life. The struggle was greater this time, perhaps because of Arthur's level of attachment to his apprentice, perhaps because the previous struggles had opened the highways and byways of Oliver's convoluted mind up further. Whatever the reason, Oliver's composure was slipping rapidly as that _infernal_ headache began to drill against his skull again, his smile twitching at the edges as he slipped his hand into his pocket, reaching for the needle.__

____

"What are you doing up? You don't look so well. I thought you were having a nap in the kitchen, getting your beauty sleep and all that."

____

__

____

_With the sunlight soap,_

____

__  
_   
_

____

Aryana's face darkened slightly, a petulant scowl finding its way onto her lips. "People tend to do that when poisoned." she spat, and Arthur began lashing out frantically in the corner of his mind as Oliver's left eye began to twitch, the pain becoming more than merely irksome.

____

_"No! Leave her alone! Oliver **don't do it**!"_ he snarled desperately as Oliver roughly grabbed her by the arm and twisted, slamming Arya into the wall with an improvised hold as the human let out an involuntary hiss of pain. The British man pulled the needle out of his pocket, removing the cap delicately with his teeth.

____

"Now Aryana, you'll be a good poppet and hold still for your medicine, yes?" he cooed with a sickly smile, and Arya began to struggle wildly as she caught a glimpse of the needle from the corner of her eyes, and the underground's eyes narrowed as he tightened his grip, bringing the needle closer to her skin.

____

**Ding-dong.**

____

**Ding-dong.**

____

Their heads whipped around in unison, and Oliver cursed under his breath as he realized they were struggling in the hallway entrance, directly across from the front door.

____

__

____

_Jack the Ripper's dead~_

____

____  
  


____

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-Posted: February 7th, 2020, 5.06 PM USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: October 27th, 2015, 1.05 PM USA Central Time


	73. In Which We Team Delta, Bravo, Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a LOT of fun writing the latter part of this chapter. *happy salute* God bless you, Prussia. May you never change.

_3rd Person POV:_

Oliver growled under his breath as he looked from the door to the human, favoring Aryana with the one and only truly angry glance he had ever given her.

 _"Go."_ he snarled ferally, in disappointment, as he shoved her away and Arya practically bolted up the old-era staircase in her haste to get away from the enraged 2p, her face white. With equal, ruthless power, Oliver squashed down his other self and stomped over to the door, quickly acquiring Arthur's usual clothes and colors. Taking the briefest of self-restrained pauses, Oliver took a moment to silently breathe and compose himself, before his boiling temper cooled and he was able to rip open the door and glare at the newcomers in a way that wouldn't send them screaming for their lives. "What?!" he barked, silently thanking, for once, Arthur's predilection for grouchiness and rude behavior.

Prussia and Romano stood on the doorstep, and they exchanged glances: amused from Prussia, annoyed from Romano. "We're here to visit ze _fraulien_. She in?" Prussia asked casually, switching his crimson gaze from Romano to England, a slight smile tugging on his lips.

England's scowl grew deeper, but it was so faint and gone so quickly that neither of the other two caught it. "Yes. She is. She's also busy." he said curtly, moving to close the door, but with the speed only an Italian could manage, Romano stuck his foot in the way.

"C'mon _Inghilterra_ , don't be a stick in the mud. Let her have some human contact." he said lazily, although his eyes narrowed challengingly –and subtly– as he did.

England glared back, but then let the door swing open again. "She's upstairs." he muttered in defeat, letting them edge into the hallway before closing the door with a slam.

Romano and Prussia exchanged subtle, slightly anxious glances as he fell into step behind them. England showed every intent of marching up to Arya's room with them –which meant that they wouldn't have the chance to talk with her alone and find out what was really going on.

Prussia glanced behind himself and then grinned, silently jabbing a thumb at England, then pointing at the hallways branching out from the one they were walking along, then tapped his chest and mouthed _"me"_. He then gestured to Romano and pointed up the stairs in illustration. The Italian's eyes flickered from the stairs to Prussia to England, and then a tiny grudging smile formed on his face as he nodded subtly.

"Kesese~! HEY ENGLAND, WHAT'S THIS DO?!" The albino suddenly shrieked, streaking off down the hallway as the sound of a breaking knickknack –or several– echoed behind him and England turned pale.

"No- wait- COME BACK HERE!" he yelled helplessly, taking off after Prussia as Romano rolled his eyes and ascended the staircase as quickly as the circumstances allowed. As he ran, he reached up to his ear and tapped the tiny electronic device wrapped around it.

"We got into the house, the potato bastard's brother is off causing a distraction. I'm heading for the krautlet's room." he muttered, and Romania's voice filtered in from the other end.

_"Right. Oliver's almost certainly placed some kind of illusion or spell on her, especially if he's injured her in some way. Don't go by what you see. Use your sense of touch and smell."_

Romano made a disgusted face as he moved rapidly down the hallway. "Why the fuck would _smell_ be useful?" he spat, and Romania made an apologetic sound from the other end.

 _"Well, hopefully this won't be the case, but if Oliver's as much of a psycho as Aryana and the other Prussia reported him to be, she might be wounded enough for the scent of blood to be…well, detectable."_ he admitted uneasily, and Romano swallowed hard.

"It better not." he growled, sighting in on the door England had shown them on their previous visit. He grabbed the knob and twisted impatiently, shoving the door open and-

 **WHAM**. 

"OW! _CAZZO, CHE FANNO MALE!"_ he howled as he fell to the floor, his forehead throbbing in pain.

"Oh shit, sorry Romano!" Aryana's voice blurted from above him, and he squinted one eye open to see her standing above him, an alarm clock clutched in her hand like an offensive weapon and looking incredibly guilty.

"The fuck was that for!" he spat, in no mood to be forgiving, and she dropped the alarm clock sheepishly.

"Sorry dude, I thought you were-" she began, before her mouth snapped shut and she looked away. Romano glared at her for a moment.

"Who?" he prompted snappishly, and she opened her mouth, then closed it again and looked away sulkily.

 _"Romano, remember, she's probably been jinxed. Ask her yes or no questions."_ Romania prompted suddenly his earpiece, and Romano smacked his already sore forehead.

"Right, of fucking course…" he muttered, then met Arya's eyes. "The sugar-loving bastard from the English bastard's country, right?" he asked, and her honey-brown eyes widened slightly before she quickly nodded several times.

"Right…" Romano sighed heavily, rubbing his sore temples. "Can you write things down, or does the spell prevent that too?" he asked irritably, and Arya paused, then shrugged helplessly, looking uncertain. He shoved a pen and a pad of paper into her hands, then pointed to it impatiently. "Right, you just write down everything I need to know." he snapped, and she gave him an uncertain look, then put the pen to the paper and began scribbling.

Romano bounced anxiously on his heels, all too aware of the fact that Prussia could probably only distract England –Oliver, rather– for a certain amount of time before he got suspicious. He watched as Arya finished off one page, ripped it off, and then handed it to him before continuing to write. He scanned over it, and his teeth grit with anger as his fist clenched around the innocent scrap of paper.

> `For starters, Oliver's tagged me with some kind of magical sigil that causes me frickin' UNBEARABLE agony whenever he activates it, kinda like a shock collar but to the millionth degree. I've been trying to escape for a while, but he's jinxed all the entrances and exits. He fed me a meal poisoned with arsenic earlier today because he suspected me of wandering around or using magic or something, but Mint Bunny says is not a fatal dose. I actually was wandering around by using magic last night, we found a book that might help in throwing Oliver out of England's body for good. I stashed it down my pants, I was gonna put it in my bag but Oliver jumped me just before you showed up.`

He read it out loud in a soft, angry mutter, as Romania received and absorbed the information, thinking quietly as Romano took the next sheet and read off of it.

> `Oliver killed Mrs. Sarah, Britain's housekeeper, a few days ago. He cut her body up and I don't know what he did with it…I think the cannibal rumors might be true, though. He's been torturing me pretty since the day he showed up, I've got wounds everywhere. He's pulled a few of my fingernails out too, which hurts like a bitch. I'm all cut up everywhere, I don't think I can manage anything more than a quick sprint if I needed to. What's the plan?`

Romano quickly relayed the information, his scowl fading and face paling as his anxious Italian nerves started acting up again. Romania broke into his train of thought.

 _"Does Arya have any idea of where the sigil might be?"_ he asked audibly, and Romano glanced at Arya as she silently shook her head.

"No." he sighed irritably, and Romania muttered something softly to Norway before returning to the mic.

 _"Is there any place on you that Oliver hasn't cut?"_ Romania continued curiously. ,em>"He wouldn't have wanted to damage the mark, and it's probably a tattoo." he explained, and Arya looked mutinous as Romano walked over.

"Fucking cupcake bastard tagged me with a _tattoo_ …?" she hissed under her breath, and Romano tapped her shoulder.

"Let's not make this a strip search; where _hasn't_ the bastard cut you?" he grumbled, and Arya screwed up her face in thought.

"He's mostly been targeting my arms and legs, so it's definitely not there. He's also been attacking my sides and back, so it's not there either…" she mused, then yelped as Romano grabbed her skull and forced her head down.

"Ergo, the bastard put it on either your neck or your face. I've been staring at it for the past five minutes, so it's definitely not your face. Hold still." he snapped, pulling the collar of her shirt down with one finger. Arya froze obediently, and Romano scanned over the (apparently) unbroken skin of her neck and upper shoulders irritably. "There's nothing there, and nothing on her face either." he pointed out impatiently, tapping the earpiece again.

 _"Are you sure? Oliver probably put an illusion on it, so it wouldn't be visible to ordinary people."_ Romania argued, and Romano smacked his forehead.

"Then why the hell did you make me look for it!?" he screamed in exasperation, and Arya snickered from her awkward position.

"Romano, please don't ever change." she said, half in exasperation, half in amusement, and he promptly responded by letting go of her shirt and smacking her over the head.

* * *

_Prussia (Awesome, the)_

* * *

_Ooh, that looks valuable, and that'll make a nice loud breaking sound, aaaand baseball slide under the vase to knock it over…_

Prussia cackled gleefully as he crashed through Britain's house. He was in his element: namely, causing as much chaos as possible. Few people appreciated how difficult that actually was, especially when you didn't want the desired victim to stop chasing you in disgust or try to formulate some kind of clever plan to stop your most awesome path of destruction.

His distinctive laugh echoed off the walls as he streaked through the house, mayhem, destruction, and broken furniture trailing in his wake as "Britain" cried out in outrage, anger, and fear as he dashed around to try and save "his" knickknacks. Prussia flashed a cocky grin as he whipped out a paintbrush –God knew from where– and began leaving streaks of hot-pink paint along the walls as he went, laughing like a maniac. He'd had years of practice with his brother Ludwig and that stick-up-his-ass Austria: some cupcake-loving sugarpuff psycho didn't have a chance at saving England's beloved home.

"KNOCK IT _OFF!"_ Britain bellowed from behind him, and Prussia dodged with a yelp as a bolt of red-glowing magic shot by, and a flung book collided with his shoulder. Oliver was smart enough not to actually, blatantly attack him, but as Prussia well knew, having pushed the buttons of just about every country more than once throughout the centuries, an angry Britain could and would use magic that wasn't necessarily safe for the victim.

"C'mon England, Romano was right! Loosen up, this old barn needs a _makeover_ ~!" he shouted back, splattering the hot pink paint over an exceedingly valuable-looking antique table.

"STOP IT!" the Englishman yelled back, another streak of magic hissing past Prussia's nose as he jerked his head to the side and continued sprinting down the hallway.

"C'mon, I don't think I can keep ze bastard distracted for much longer!" he hissed into his earpiece, throwing a measuring glance over his shoulder at Britain/Oliver's irritated face.

 _"Keep stallin' him, we haven't found the mark yet!"_ Romano snapped back over the headset, panicked Italian curses filling the mic as Prussia continued to run and dodge magic, books, and other airborn missiles.

Prussia spat out a frantic curse in German as the other nation apparently figured out his style and threw some kind of magic at his feet –which hit, and sent him tumbling to the floor. He was up again in a second, only to have Britain grab him by the collar and drag him down so they were nose to nose.

The albino gulped, seeing the incandescent rage sparking in "England's" emerald green eyes. He attempted a winning grin.

"S'up, _Herr_ Britain. New decorator?" he asked innocently, and the other nation's eye twitched.

"That is bloody _it!"_ he snarled, dragging Prussia to a nearby door, wrenching it open, and chucking the albino inside with all of his considerable nation-strength.

"Ow! _Achten Sie auf die Kleider!_ (Watch out for the clothes!)" Prussia yowled in indignation, and England spat a curse at him before slamming the door shut –and locking it. The German former-nation froze mid-struggle as he heard the rasp of a key, uncomfortably twisted upside-down between the door and several old sheets and linens, with his elbow by his ear, his left foot buried in pillowcases, and his right leg folded up by his chest.

Prussia cursed himself as he realized he wouldn't be able to break the door down from this position, a fierce scowl crossing his face. He was locked inside the closet, England was now free and undistracted, and Romano and Arya still hadn't finished reconnoitering.

_"Scheiße."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-Posted: February 7th, 2020, 5.16 PM USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: October 29th, 2015, 1.39 PM USA Central Time


	74. In Which We Stop, Drop, and Roll

_3rd Person POV:_

Oliver stood in front of the kitchen counter for a few moments, silently composing himself. He was _furious_. Firstly and most important, he hadn't been able to send Arya back to his world so the others could effectively kill her. The other version of South Italy and _that idiot_ had shown up as well, so he couldn't send her back now.

A muscle twitched in his jaw as he deliberately closed his eyes, taking in deep, silent breathes through his nose. _Calm. Calm. You are the best magician the world has ever seen._ He repeated to himself, his teeth clenching. _They don't know who you really are or what's really going on. They are nothing but irritants, quickly swatted aside. Calm. Calm._

Oliver let out a long breath and steepled his fingers over his nose. Things were falling apart again. But he had planned for that –what was that thing someone had said once? _Plans never survive first contact with the enemy._ He knew it was unlikely that Aryana and the others would humor him by playing to his tune unless he _forced_ them to. He'd tried with her, and had limited success. Right now, his failure to send her to his world and the invasion of his home by her allies were just a few inconvenient bumps in the road –but lately, those bumps had an unpleasant habit of becoming major stumbling blocks. Look how he had gotten into this situation in the first place! The "minor bump" of having a human who knew their names, faces, and quirks had rapidly turned into his biggest problem here.

Oliver's clever, malicious mind began to race as he griped the counter, biting his lip. It was all about momentum. He'd had the momentum until just now: they were taking it back and slowing him down, even if they were just being in his way. He'd done the preliminary work, laid the foundations, and now all he'd needed to do was wait, build his strength, look for the perfect opportunity and the perfect moment.

Now definitely wasn't it, but what choice did he have? It was no more Mr. Nice Guy, the gloves were off, and the ship had sailed. Magical possession and assimilation was no longer an option: it took too long for them to permanently entrench themselves, and, as his recent experiences testified, their doubles were still very present, even when the assimilation was flawless. It was best if they came over, all at once, and just had a straight-out fight. Their doubles wouldn't stand a chance: they were lovers, not fighters.

He _had_ been prepared for this eventuality, just in case. He'd been busy the past few weeks, collecting samples of their "better halves" and storing them in the underground magic room. True, Oliver hadn't been unable to get samples of both Prussia and Romano –the latter was too jumpy and standoffish, while the former never really came into contact with him, no longer being a nation– but right now, that was the least of his concerns.

Oliver let go of his lower lip and pushed away from the counter. He wasn't as prepared as he would've _liked_ to be, but on their heads, so be it.

This match between him and Aryana had just entered "sudden death".

_***Time Skip***_

Oliver carelessly threw the cloak around his shoulders and tied it off with a snap, lighting the appropriate candles with another click of his fingers. The freshly-drawn pentacle was huge –it covered nearly all of the basement's floor, and runes filled every single inch of it. Small vials were dotted all across the large sigil: there must have been at least a hundred of them, containing a sample from each nation: few strands of hair, a few drops of blood, a fingernail, some spit.

The small Brit paid no attention, simply taking up his position at the north of the pentacle and closing his eyes. _"Dou inochigoi, suru ka to ka souzou suru, to warae chau shi ne!"_ he shouted briskly, flinging his arms out as a wave of reddish-black light erupted from the pentacle, temporarily blinding any onlookers. When the light cleared, the basement was much more crowded, filled with men and women with hungry eyes and twisted auras, with blood-spattered weapons and rust-stained blades.

"The fuck is this?" a voice snarled from the crowd, and a towering man in a plaid Canadian shirt shoved his way to the front of the group, glaring at Oliver with furious, violet-colored eyes. "You said we'd _wait!"_ Matt barked angrily, and Oliver lowered his hands, an icy smirk on his face.

"Change of plans. We start now." he cooed in a sickly sweet manner, and Luciano sneered from his place by the magic mirror.

"What? Something go wrong?" he taunted, and Oliver's blue eyes flashed.

"Considering my efforts are the only thing that would save you from certain death, you should be a little more worried about my plans failing." he said coldly, with a plastic grin, and Vladmir made a dismissive motion with one hand.

"Pah! We are not concerned about your failures or successes!" he spat as the Baltics sneered and nodded from beside him. "Why did you bring us here, now?"

Oliver allowed a wicked smirk to crawl across his face. "Some of the other nations got in my way." he chuckled, and Austria narrowed his red eyes, flicking them over the gathered undergrounds.

"Where's South Italy and that little shit Gillen?" he asked in a gravelly, unmelodic voice, his sharpened teeth scraping against each other as he spoke. Oliver shrugged coyly.

"I didn't get any samples." he said sweetly, and Luciano scowled, turning away from the mirror he had been absently defacing with scratches and gouges.

"My little shit of a brother is useless. We leave him." he snapped, and Matt scowled, rubbing a thumb along his hockey stick.

"Ten bucks on Gillen being a traitor, anyways. We don't need them." he agreed, and Lutz nodded mechanically from his place by Kuro.

"Right. Gillen's hopeless." the bulky German rumbled, his fuchsia eyes glinting as they moved to Luciano.

They were all in agreement: by not bringing Gillen and Flavio with them, they were condemning them to death. Not a single one of them cared, not even their siblings. In the 2p world, it was survival of the fittest, dog-eat-dog, sorry about your bad luck, but you won't get any help from us, and might makes right. Anyone who fell behind was left behind.

Oliver watched through slitted eyes and a Cheshire smile as his allies and comrades readied their weapons, and Allen and Wang Zao shoved their way towards him.

"I know how you think, fuckface." Allen began angrily, his crimson eyes narrowed and teeth gritted as he stared Oliver down. "The other nations didn't just "get in your way". What the hell happened?" he demanded roughly, and Zao nodded vigorously from beside him, his own blood-red eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Oliver smiled happily and clicked his tongue. "But if I told you that, it'd spoil the surprise~!" he teased, and Allen grabbed him by the collar, twisted his fist into the fabric, and slammed the smaller man up against the wall.

 _"Fuck_ the _surprise_. What are you talking about?" he hissed in demand, the tightened collar of the shirt nearly choking the other underground, and Oliver grinned with an effort.

"You remember that irksome trio that caused us so much trouble the last few rounds?" he asked sweetly, and Allen's eyes widened with psychotic, unholy joy as an incredulous grin formed on his face.

_"Those three?"_

"Those three."

Without another word, Allen dropped Oliver and bolted for the staircase, nail-encrusted bat in hand and a predatory grin on his face.

"They're in the guest wing, three floors up!" the cannibalistic sorcerer called cheerily after him, and the heads of the other 2p!s swiveled around.

"Who are?" Francois demanded raspily, and Oliver twined his fingers together and swayed playfully.

"Oh, just Aryana, the other South Italy, and the other Prussia." he sang, and there was a moment of silence. Luciano was the first to sprint for the door, a vengeful glint in his eye and a strained grimace of a smile on his lips, followed closely by Matt, Vladmir, and every other Second Player with a grudge, weapons in hand.

_***Time Skip***_

"I'm stuck."

_"We **gathered** that Prussia, but could you give us a little more detail?!"_

"I'm upside-down too." the albino added helpfully, grinning sightlessly at Romania's wordless snarl of frustration. Even though things were looking ever-so-slightly dangerous, and getting more unpredictable by the moment, Prussia couldn't resist a little jibe.

Romania suddenly stopped growling, his line becoming dead silent.

Prussia flinched and swore as the Slav's panicked voice suddenly crackled over the speakers. _"PRUSSIA, ROMANO, ARYANA, YOU NEED TO GET OUT OF THERE **NOW**!"_ he shrieked, and the albino blinked.

"Why?" he asked in unison with Romano, and he heard frantic movement from the other end.

 _"There was just a massive energy discharge from England's basement, it was well-shielded, but Norway's been watching for the ripples of power."_ Romania babbled, and there was another moment of silence.

_"…vas?"_

"SPEAK IN A WAY WE CAN UNDERSTAND, DAMNIT!"

 _"OLIVER JUST USED AN EXORBITANT AMOUNT OF MAGIC!"_ Romano screamed over the line, pushed to a state beyond panic. _"THE KIND OF MAGIC THAT IS EXTREMELY DISPROPORTIONATE TO JUST ONE USER! UNLESS WE'RE GRAVELY MISTAKEN, HE'S JUST BROUGHT ALL THE OTHER UNDERGROUNDS TO OUR WORLD –TO **THAT HOUSE**! YOU'VE GOT TO GET OUT OF THERE!"_ he shrieked, and Prussia's eyes widened as the line clicked out.

 _Well, that beats hanging around and waiting to get out the normal way._ The albino thought to himself, gritting his teeth. With a curse and a short yelp of pain, using a maneuver he hadn't tried in decades, he purposefully broke his own arm at the elbow and twisted it to brace himself against the side of the closet. Eyes watering, he put his feet against the top shelf and _shoved_ with all the might in his formerly empiric body.

 **Crack!**

The splintered remains of the door and the freely cursing Prussian hit the polished wood of England's home, and the albino quickly grabbed his limply hanging right arm and twisted, getting the bone back into its proper position before it could set at that awkward –and extremely painful– angle.

"Right, I'm out of the closet." he said gruffly, rubbing his aching wrist and trying desperately to resist the urge to laugh at his double entendre.

 _"Good. You need to escape as soon as possible, Romano and Arya should be right behind you. Norway and I are transporting as many people as we can to your dropoff point, you need to get there as fast as you can."_ Romania instructed, and Prussia nodded absently, already mentally tracing an escape route.

"Right, sure thing." he replied, starting off down the hall, only to swear and duck as a knife flashed by him, nicking the side of his neck as a tiny dribble of blood trailed down his skin. Prussia pulled out the gun he had taken with him earlier and cocked it as his turned seamlessly, aiming at the figure melting out of the shadows.

"Well well, if it isn't Lucky Luci." he sneered as the familiar purple-eyed Italian melted out of the shadows, and the underground smirked mirthlessly, twirling another knife around his gloved fingers.

"And if it isn't my favorite person for target practice. No big brother Germany to save your ass this time, _pigliainculo."_

Prussia grinned and cocked the trigger. "Never needed one in the first place. Come at me, you little copycat shit."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prussia's smacktalk at the end in a thinly veiled and extremely lame reference to one of 2p!Italy's possible name inspirations; an Italian mob boss by the name of Lucky Luciano.
> 
> Cross-Posted; February 7th, 2020, 5.24 PM USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: October 30th, 2015, 7.37 PM USA Central Time


	75. In Which We Scream and Shout

_Arya's POV:_

"YOU'VE GOT TO GET OUT OF THERE!" Romania shrieked into the mic, and I bit back a screech of surprise and pain as Romano grabbed my arm and yanked, trying to pull me towards the entrance.

"C'mon _krautlet_ , what are you waiting for?!" he snapped as he nearly pulled me off my feet, and I strained, reaching for my apocalypse bag, stashed by the wardrobe.

"Dude, I can't leave my bag!" I squealed, trying to ignore the fact that his fingers were wrapped tightly around several open wounds. "It's all I have!" I pleaded as he began to drag me towards the door, and Romano paused, his face torn between guilt and exasperated anger.

"Look _krautlet_ , if it's a choice between your possessions and your _life_ , which are you gonna choose?! Think like an Italian!" he shrieked at me, and I flinched, stopping my resistance as I lowered my hand.

"Fine…" I whimpered, and he readjusted his grip and was about to start pulling again, when-

"Weee-ell _hello_ there, dollface."

We both froze, and as one, turned to look at the door.

2p!America was leaning against my doorframe, a wide grin that was more fitted to a shark than a human on his face, and his bloodied, bent-nail encrusted bat swinging low at his side.

That changed as he took a step forward, his bat cocking up to become more of an offensive weapon than an obligatory threat. His grin changed as well, morphing into something even more sinister. "Haven't seen either of you since you _ran me over with your fucking car."_ His blood-red eyes narrowed ferociously as his voice darkened on the last few words, and he swung the bat into position. "Here's some fucking payback!" he roared, and I screamed as something slammed into my side and sent me flying across the room. My back thudded against the wood of the bedroom floor and I looked up, my body stinging, to see Romano sprawled across me, his amber eyes wide with panic. He'd tackled me out of the way of Allen's spiky weapon, and he now bodily grabbed me and slung me over his shoulder.

"Get the fuck back here!" the underground snarled as Romano dodged around his next swing, skittering backwards toward my doorway as Allen violently followed up. His crimson eyes were blazing with anger, and the bat carved vicious, deadly arcs around us as my Italian vehicle dodged and scampered, avoiding blow after blow. I went as limp as I could manage under the circumstances as Romano ducked under 2p!America's next strike, which splintered the frame of my door, tucking my arms in close to my chest and closing my eyes as I let Romano do his thing.

Namely –run like hell.

2p!America might be many things –the reflection of a global superpower, a violent psychopath, and the personification of a criminal underground, but there was one thing he was not: a panicked Italian who was running for his life. I could only wrap my arms tightly around myself, fold my legs up, and pray to god I wasn't going to get blown off from the wind of his passage as Romano pounded through the house.

I felt us flash around a few corners, and then Romano slowed a miniscule amount as I felt his shoulders shift, picking something up with one hand and cocking it back. I caught a glimpse of one of England's favorite vases before Romano snapped his arm forward, sending it hurling off into the unknown. My eyes widened as I heard the ear-shattering _smash_ of breaking glass and Romano sped up.

"Are you seriously going to-?!" I began to shriek, but the Italian cut me off.

"Shut up and don't move!"

 **Whoosh**.

I shrieked in fear as Romano jumped –at full speed– out of Britain's second-story window, plummeting towards the ground and hitting it with bended knees as I heard an extremely painful-sounding crack. Romano let loose a string of Italian curses, slowly straightening up as his leg bones realigned and his arms stopped bleeding. I had luckily avoided a lot of the broken glass and sat up slightly, his bony shoulder digging painfully into the few –but deep– cuts in my stomach.

"Dude, you can put me down n-" I began hoarsely, before my eyes widened as my whole body jolted.

 _Shit. Not now. Not **now**._ I thought frantically, before-

 **Pain**.

"Aaah-aah-AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"

_GOD DAMN YOU, OLIVER!_

_3rd Person POV:_

Romano winced as he landed, but really, the window had been the fastest option. The _krautlet_ shifted on his shoulder and –fuck, that asshole Romania had been right. The smell of blood from her wounds _was_ actually tangible.

"Dude, you can put me down n-" she tried, before her whole body stiffened, and she began to scream like she was being skinned alive and beaten with red-hot pokers at the same damn time.

"What the!?" the Italian hissed, clapping his hands over his ears and looking over his shoulder at her. _"Krautlet_ , what the hell are you-"

A crackle from the microphone in his ear interrupted him, and he twitched and glared at thin air for lack of anything else to glare at. "Can I finish a single damn sentence!" he roared, and Romania waved his protests aside.

 _"Listen, Arya's screaming! Is there any visible reason for it?"_ he asked frantically, and Romano practically popped a blood vessel, getting his bearings straight before continuing to run. Aryana screaming or no Aryana screaming, there was a psychopath behind him and Romano was _so_ not dealing with that shit.

"Well of course there fucking isn't!" he barked into the mic. "She was normal and then she just started shrieking!"

_"Oliver! Oliver must've worked some kind of jinx into the spell he put on her –like a leash, or a torture link! Whenever he activates it, she'll be put out of commission because of the pain!"_

"Well how do I _un_ activate it?!" Romano barked as he jumped over a hedge, trying very hard to ignore the screaming and squirming human on his shoulder while still holding her still. If he wasn't a nation, he'd never have managed it.

 _"You **don't**!"_ Romania blurted unhelpfully. _"If you can get her to us, we might be able to find where he put the mark and then get rid of it, but until then, there's no way to help her! Just-just **run**!"_ he begged, and Romano snorted as he continued to move at the speed of light –or a panicked Italian– his legs practically a blur.

"What do you think I'm fucking doing, taking a nap?!" he shot back, including another long spate of Italian expletives afterwards.

That was, of course, before he crashed into something.

_"Scheiße!"_

_"Che cazzo?!"_

Romano looked up again from his spot on the grass, the human half-pinned under him and still screaming her lungs out. A flood of relief –that he would never, ever, admit to as long as he lived– washed over him as he saw the arrogant albino sitting on his ass a few meters away, rubbing his forehead.

"Zat hurt –wait, what's wrong with ze _fraulien?!"_ Prussia asked worriedly as he suddenly noticed Arya, and Romano quickly clambered to his feet.

"The English fucker put a curse or a jinx or some shit like that on her. We have to get her to the magickers so they can fix it –and where the hell were you earlier?!" he spat, and the Prussian awkwardly scratched his cheek.

"Stuffed in a closet and then having a shootout with your _bruder's_ double. Luckily, he brought a knife to a gun fight. Kesese~!" he laughed triumphantly as he shot to his feet as well, then rummaged in his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief.

"Sorry about this _frau_ , but we really can't think over the sound of you screaming." he muttered as he knelt down and wrapped the white cloth around Arya's head, jerking a knot as he made it into a makeshift gag. It muffled her agonized cries, but not very well, and he picked the human up and shoved her into Romano's arms. "You run fastest, and you're the worst at fighting. You carry her." he delegated, and the Italian rolled his eyes as he moved her over his shoulder in the fireman position, the better to carry her and run at the same time.

"Whatever." he muttered, and their heads both snapped to the left as they heard a feral snarl of anger.

"Get the fuck back here you cowards!" 2p!Canada shouted, pelting towards them with his hockey stick raised. Behind him came Vladmir, a huge pipe in his hands that made Russia's look like a toystore prop, and 2p!China, butcher knife gleaming in his hands.

Prussia's eyes widened as he yanked out his gun, and Romano took flight, the Germanic nation hard on his heels. They bolted past the manicured lawn and gardens of the Aglo-Saxon's home, and then ran headfirst into the thick forest that surrounded his home.

"How far is it to the meeting point?!" Romano shrieked as he shot through the brush, Prussia barely able to keep pace with him and panting hard.

"No idea –but keep running for _verdammt's_ sake!" he replied frantically as the sound of crashing undergrowth behind them grew louder and louder, as more and more 2p!s followed the sound of screaming coming from the human on Romano's shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-Posted: February 7th, 2020, 5.40 PM USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: October 31st, 2015 USA Central Time


	76. In Which Player 1 Enters The Game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is…well, let's just say the 1ps are kinda fed up with the 2ps in this chapter, so they aren't going to be playing nice. Today everyone shall be thrown into the meat-grinder, and they may or may not survive. For example, it's my own personal headcanon that any non-2p!Canadian (so fem!, snapped!, normal!, dark!, etc) uses an ax when fighting. Guns and swords don't seem to be his thing, ditto with knives, and 2p!Canada already has dibs on the whole hockey-stick thing. So homeboy uses an ax, and he's using it like a pro. I would also like to point out (for those who didn't know already), that as a former lifeguard, shock is an actual (and potentially deadly) medical condition.
> 
> Also, even though 2p!Romano was not brought over by Oliver's spell, he still showed up, because as demonstrated by 2p!Prussia they can do it on their own if they find a sigil.

_3rd Person POV:_

Prussia was proud of himself.

Well, he was always proud of himself, but right now, he was especially proud.

Luciano had made one key mistake when he confronted the egotistical German: he hadn't gone for the kill with that first knife. Under the circumstances they usually seemed to meet in, after he'd thrown it he and Prussia would have been pretty much evenly matched: Luciano would have his crazy knife skills, and Prussia would be unarmed and only have his strength and speed to defend himself. _However_ , on this occasion, the albino prankster had a gun –and he knew how to use it. The battle had only lasted a few minutes before Prussia got an opening and blew the Italian fucker's brains out with several well-placed shots to the forehead and skull. (Luciano had begun to duck when the second one hit.)

Aware of the undergrounds' speedy regeneration time (as well as his opponent's multitude of allies in the house) Prussia hadn't stuck around to gloat, setting off down the hallway at the speed only a nation could manage. As he reached the wing where Arya's room was, he heard a crash and deviated slightly to find that someone –Romano, probably, with Arya in tow– had jumped out of the second floor window. A wicked grin crawled its way onto Prussia's face as he saw the criminal side of America pelting towards the frame of broken glass, back to him, and he cocked the pistol again.

**Crk-BLAM!**

"Headshot, motherfucker! Kesese~!" Prussia laughed as he jumped over the sprawled body of the tanned American, baseball bat rolling out of his slackened hands and blood dripping down over his glazed crimson eyes. Prussia continued bolting towards the window and took a flying leap out as he hit the ground with a thud and a _crack_ , his right leg snapping clean in two as he buckled sideways onto the grass. Prussia's painful grin remained on his face as he reached down and righted the offending limb with a gruesome _crunch_ , then stood up again and started to run. I mean, how many times did you get to not only shoot your enemy in the head, but also shoot your enemy in the head and jump like a badass out of a broken manor window?

Never, that's when.

He'd run into Romano and Arya –literally– and was now streaking through the forest with the Italian, a side cramp starting to gnaw at his ribs, and an angry mob of 2p!s hot on his heels. Aryana was still screaming like there was no tomorrow, and thrashing like she was being tortured by her worst nightmare –not very helpful when you were trying to escape quickly and quietly.

"I don't think we can keep this up much longer, Romania –where the hell are you and ze others?" he panted into the microphone, and ducked as the sound of a gunshot rang out from behind them and a branch next to Romano's head splintered from the force of the bullet.

 _"Keep heading in the direction you're going now, you're almost on top of us! How many of the undergrounds are there behind you?"_ the Slavic nation asked frantically, and Prussia craned his neck to look behind himself, trying desperately not to lose an iota of speed.

"How about every single fucking one of them!" he yelped, and Romano visibly picked up his speed.

And then, just like that, they broke out into a clearing, and Prussia caught sight of at least half a dozen nations before he registered Romania and Norway pelting towards them, and Romano gratefully shrugged Arya off his shoulder. Romania took her and began muttering enchantments, holding his hand over her forehead.

"You okay?" Norway asked, deadpan, as Spain sprinted past them, dragging a gigantic battleax and shrieking threats as he crashed into one or more of the 2p!s and began to carve into them, France right behind him with a rapier and Canada running behind them both, holding a smaller ax that was probably meant more for lumber than human flesh. Nevertheless, he plunged right into the fight, and quickly proved he knew how to use it as he buried the ax in what looked to be 2p!Belgium's brain, then put his foot on her shoulder and yanked it out in a shower of gore, running to support France, who looked to be fighting Hungary and Austria's doubles, and buckling under the pressure of using a rapier against Hungary's knives and Austria's broadsword.

Romano gaped as Italy quickly darted across the clearing, avoiding the struggling knots of fighters, a large shotgun clutched in his hands. "Hey 'Mano! I got your Ithaca for you, take it please so I can get away from all these scary doubles and find Germany!" he wailed, and the older Italian quickly jumped up and snatched the gun from him, slinging the strap over his shoulder and holding out his hand impatiently.

"Rounds?" he snapped, and Italy quickly fished several large, bright red shells from his pockets and handed them to his brother. "Right, now go find that potato bastard and stick by him." Romano ordered, slamming a shell into the chamber and pulling the slide.

Italy blinked at him for a moment, looking confused at the sudden change in attitude. "Ve…?" he questioned, and Romano made as if to hit him with the butt of the gun, his face bright red from embarrassment.

 _"Gesù Cristo_ , don't make me repeat it! Find that goddamn potato bastard!" he barked, and Italy gave him a sunny smile, then shrieked in fear as China projectile-kicked 2p!Liechtenstein past them, scampering off amidst much wails of "Germany, _GERMANY!"_

Romano took up a protective stance by Romania and Norway, watching the nations struggle back and forth. So far he'd counted Spain, China, Canada, France, the potato bastard, his _fratello_ , and several other countries he only vaguely knew hacking tooth and nail, sword and knife, gun and ax at the 2p!s.

Risking a glance over his shoulder, he saw that Romania had gotten Arya to the point where she was no longer convulsing, and Norway was busy next to a large portal. As he watched, even for those few seconds, a shape formed in the midst of it, and that towering bastard Turkey formed, a wide grin in place under his mask as he twirled his scimitar and launched into the fray. The portal glowed again, and just behind Turkey came America, a serious expression on his face for once and a pistol in hand.

A familiar battle cry took Romano's attention off the portal, and he turned around to see Spain going toe-to-toe with his own double –good _god_ , that tacky dyed hair– and Japan's underground –and losing.

"OY!" he screamed in anger, pulling the trigger as the giggling "blond's" head exploded in a shower of crimson gore, ending his cackling about _"clawing through the portal anyways,"_ and Kuro flinched and jumped backwards, startled.

"That's _my_ bastard to fuck with!" Romano snarled, pumping the shotgun again and aiming it at the Asian's head. Kuro froze for the briefest second, which was long enough for Spain to bury the head of his ax in the 2p's neck and jump away from the ensuing blood spatter.

"Ah, Romano, _muchas gracias!_ You really do care~!" he singsonged happily, oblivious to the 2p sneaking up behind him. Romano quickly aimed and shot, blowing apart the sleazy, long-nailed Ukraine's ribcage before pumping the shotgun again and slamming another cartridge home.

"For fuck's sake, you bastard, pay attention!" he shrieked at the irritatingly oblivious Spaniard, who then grinned and hoisted his ax to deal with a snarling Baltic.

Prussia jealously listened as Romano peppered the battling clumps with curses and shotgun shells, having been dragooned into holding Aryana down while Romania chanted, her head resting on his knees and his temporary gag untied. The human was now in shock, her eyes dilated far past the normal amount and her whole body shaking like she was having a seizure, so agonized that she couldn't even scream.

Prussia licked his lips anxiously: he'd been on enough battlefields to know how deadly shock could be, and right now, she was approaching critical levels. "Hey brohaus, hurry it up a bit…" he muttered anxiously, looking through his bangs at Romania. His nerves were wire-tight, and sitting here _not fighting_ but _listening_ to the sounds of battle around him was not helping.

"I'm almost done! Just hang in there!" Romania hissed in panic, his hands moving in occult signs, and then his eyes widened. "I found it! Turn her over! Turn her over!" he demanded frantically, pulling out a small pocketknife as Prussia obeyed.

Romania grabbed the back of Arya's shirt and yanked down, exposing her neck, then stabbed viciously at a certain part of it, a red glow skittering over her neck and blood slowly welling to the surface as Arya let out a great, shuddering sigh and went limp. Prussia barely had time to start freaking out before she groaned and rolled over, clutching the back of her neck.

"So that's where he put it?" she whimpered, sitting up, and Romania grinned wearily as Prussia beamed and thumped her on the back.

"Damn straight! It's nice to have you back, _fraulien!"_ he crowed, and she smiled at him awkwardly before jumping at someone's death-scream and looking over at the shrieking, struggling, swearing clumps of people.

"Dude, what'd I miss?" she asked in surprise, and Romano backed up towards them, still racking and firing his gun.

"We got to the magic bastards, but then the other bastards caught up with us, and now everybody's just killing everybody else!" he yelped angrily, fumbling for some more shells in his pocket but coming up empty. "Fucking shit!"

Prussia quickly took aim and fired at 2p!China, who had been Romano's target, as Norway broke off from monitoring the portal and quickly chanting something that filled Romano's pockets with more ammunition, letting the glowing hoop fade into nonexistence.

"Is everybody through?" Romania asked as the other sorcerer crouched down with him, the better to be imperceptible, and Norway nodded once.

"Everybody that could come, did. The little ones and micronations are all at Cuba's place." he explained quietly, and as one, both magic nations whipped out their spellbooks and began flipping through them, sharing secret, evil smiles as they glared at the 2p!s.

"Let's cause some trouble, _da?"_

"Way ahead of you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-Posted: February 7th, 2020, 5.47 PM USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: November 2nd, 2015, 12.23 PM USA Central Time


	77. In Which We Have Maple vs Hockey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Bout the chapter, I'm giving Canada the limelight for now. He's cute, but tough. Don't turn your back on him 2p!s, he'll jump on you and take you out.

_3rd Person POV:_

Canada uttered a soft "maple-hockey!" of panic, ducking behind a huge oak tree that was miraculously still standing as a knife whizzed by his face. He didn't like fighting, but here he was, right in the thick of things, clutching an ax and trying very hard to ignore the blood spattering his face, hands, and clothing.

He _supposed_ the fighting would have been (fractionally) easier to do if his opponents had been humans, but that was sadly not the case. Killing normal people –as he had to do far, far too often in the course of being a country– was, well, not _easy_ , but when it happened, there was a sense of _finality_ to it. If you shot someone in the head, they dropped and didn't come back, ever. If you stabbed a man in the heart, he wouldn't crawl his way out of the coffin or hole or box you had buried him in. If you tied someone up and threw them in a lake –not that he'd had _any_ experience with that kind of murder!– the person could, generally, be relied upon to stay at the bottom of that lake.

Fighting countries, however, was another experience entirely, even if they were the alternate halves.

If he, say, removed the head of the alternate Italy, then ran off to deal with some more enemies, in five minutes he could whip around again and Luciano would be right behind him, a trickle of blood on his neck and murder in his eyes, and Matthew would be forced to dive for cover as he was pelted by razor-sharp knives with deadly accuracy –which was, as a matter of fact, what had just happened.

It was like a horrible game of laser tag, or one of Alfred's video games. You killed someone and then they came to life again and tried to kill you _back_ out of sheer vengeance. The dead people regenerated, so you could be standing all alone in the forest one second and then surrounded by enemies the next, since someone had beaten down a bunch of Second Players and then moved on for one reason or another, allowing them to resuscitate themselves and stand back up.

Canada took several fortifying breathes, trying not to panic, as he whipped around the tree just in time to avoid another cluster of knives, which buried themselves in the bark where his head had been a few moments before.

"Hold _still!"_ Luciano snarled, and Canada yelped as a knife embedded itself in his knee and his leg buckled. He turned the fall into a roll, crashing into and through a very prickly bush, which at least shielded him for the few seconds it took to rip the blade out of his leg, regenerate, and army-crawl into another bit of shrubbery, clinging to his ax and watching as Luciano swore and stamped through the other bushes, searching for the timid Canadian. The aforementioned maple-lover was slowly getting his feet underneath himself again, shifting carefully and quietly as he got into a crouching position. He jumped a little as 2p!Italy crushed the bush next to him, then readjusted his grip on the ax and lunged forward just as the Second Player turned.

 **SCHWACK**.

Luciano's head separated from his shoulders, and Canada waited until it had hit the ground before punting the decapitated skull as far away as he could, watching as it sailed through the air and landed in a thorn bush, a squeamish look on his face. Removing the severed body parts from the immediate area of a nation usually slowed regeneration down, and right now, every little bit helped.

It was still gross as _anything_ , and he quickly scrubbed the bloodied parts of his shoe on the moldering leaf litter under his feet, his mouth curled in disgust.

Then he felt the familiar gut-churning tingle and whirled around, bringing his ax up into a defensive position, only to blink as he gazed straight into the eyes of –himself.

Granted, it was a bigger, bulkier, scarier self, but still, it was essentially him.

2p!Canada was also a more _aggressive_ version of him, as Matthew discovered when the underground grinned ferally and swept the reinforced hockey stick –it _had_ to be reinforced, there was no way a normal hockey stick wouldn't have splintered– at him, slamming into his side and sending him flying into the undergrowth, skidding and rolling to a halt with his clothes torn and hair full of leaves, wheezing with pain. Luckily, he had kept ahold of his ax, his ribs healing instantly as he darted out of the way of the next hit, the shrub he had landed in splintering under the force of the blow. He sliced at the 2p, who lunged backwards, a scowl on his face, and Matthew quickly jumped out of range of that deadly hockey stick before his double could retaliate.

They stared at each other for a few moments, clutching their weapons and assessing their opponent. Canada stared at his alternate self in disbelief as the Second Player stonily glared back. Matthew had heard what Arya had said about his double before, but he hadn't really believed it. Him? Mean, foul-mouthed, and capable of holding grudges? No way. That was _impossible_.

Nevertheless, it seemed like she had told the truth.

2p!Canada feinted to one side, eyes narrowed, and Matthew followed the motion, nervously holding his ax out in a semi-threatening manner. The underground's mouth curled upwards in a smirk, and he was the first to break the high-strung silence.

"You're better than I'd thought you'd be." Matt said raspily, feinting again as Canada twitched anxiously, gripping the ax with both hands.

"You're scarier than I thought you'd be." he squeaked, and the Second Player raised a deadpan eyebrow.

"Am I, now?" he muttered, a slight smirk working its way onto his face again. Without warning, he suddenly lunged at Canada again, who yelped a panicked _"maple!"_ as he brought the ax up, blocking the overhand blow of the hockey stick and coming face-to-face with a deadpan, but slightly smirking Matt. Canada's indigo eyes widened as the underground's shoulders flexed, pressing the smaller man back against the forest floor, his subtle smirk growing slightly.

But then Matthew's eyes flashed, and he set his feet firmly on the leaf-covered ground, pushing back.

2p!Canada's dull violet eyes widened in slight surprise, before they narrowed angrily, and he shoved hard, throwing Canada slightly off-balance as he whipped his hockey stick away, then sliced it towards Canada's unguarded side.

But then the hockey stick was blocked again, and the underground looked up furiously to see Matthew holding his ax in a practiced grip, a tiny smirk on his normally cherubic face.

Matt hissed in rage, disengaging again and raining blows upon his smaller double, blows that were infuriatingly blocked one by one by an ever-grinning Matthew.

"Don't forget, hoser, I was in the World Wars too!" he mocked, his voice still quiet and meek, but brimming with confidence. 2p!Canada snarled and headbutted him, but to his irritation, Matthew easily shook it off and blocked his next hit.

The sound of a gunshot, much nearer than either of them were expecting, made both of the Canadians momentarily loose focus, Matthew's head whipping around and Matt's violet eyes glancing to the side.

Unluckily for Canada, Matt recovered first, and moved like a snake, slamming the hockey stick into Matthew's skull and caving it in, sending his double crumpling to the ground, eyes glazed.

Canada twitched a couple times on the forest floor, the back of his head smashed in and his hair covered in gore. Blood and brain matter clogged the end of 2p!Canada's weapon, and he made a face and disdainfully wiped it on his alternate's prone body, then smirked and spat out his mostly-finished cigarette on Matthew's bloodied skull.

"You might be good with your ax, but you're still a pathetic little weakling." he sneered, before turning and looking for the source of the gunshot, mouth twisted in thought. It had to have been another combatant, but whether it was an enemy or an ally, he wasn't s-

His train of thought abruptly came to an end as an ax buried itself in his skull from behind.

"Don't call me weak, hoser!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-Posted: February 7th, 2020, 5.52 PM USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: November 4th, 2015, 11.40 AM USA Central Time


	78. In Which We Have Bats vs Burgers

_3rd Person POV:_

"DUDE!"

America ducked under the vicious swipe of a crescent sword, dodging sideways and nailing 2p!Spain in the heart with a well-placed bullet. He spun around and quickly snapped off several more rounds as a trio of 2p!s –it looked like the Baltics, but he wasn't quite sure– were sent reeling, blood trails curling in the air as their victim, a traumatized China, quickly uncurled and shot to his feet, the bruises covering him healing at the speed of light as he snatched up his wok and just about smashed in 2p!Japan's head. America hurriedly reloaded his pistol and swept his eyes over the part of the forest he had fought his way into, looking for any enemies or allies.

As far as he could tell, things weren't going one way or another. Counties would fall, then regenerate, attack, maybe win, or maybe fall again. Really, it was an exercise in futility. America felt an exhilarated grin twitching at his lips as he hurriedly reloaded and cocked his gun, whirling to shoot down several more Second Players. What had one of the characters said in one of his favorite movies, again?

_"Are we to be two immortals locked in an epic battle until Judgment Day and trumpets sound?"_

He didn't think their epic battle would last _quite_ that long, but still, the ideal remained. Alfred was a country personification, and a strong one: he knew the rules of battle as well as anybody. When two forces of equal strength met in battle, they created a stalemate that could only be broken by three things: outside interference, one side surrendering, or sheer dumb luck.

Out of the three, surrender was right out. The Second Players couldn't surrender because if they did, they'd be sent back to their own world, which would eventually –and maybe even soon– sputter out into nothing, effectively killing each and every one of them. The "original" nations couldn't surrender because surrender meant death.

That, of course, left outside interference and sheer dumb luck. America was personally hoping for the latter, because at this point, the only outside influence that would happen would be another one of the criminal nations joining the battle or otherwise screwing things up. Everyone on his side was accounted for: the nations who would and could fight were all here, the weaker and/or just plain useless fighters were all Cuba's house.

America's head snapped to the side as he heard someone familiar scream in pain, and he was off like a shot, crashing through the underbrush with his pistol held at the ready.

As he whipped around a tree, he had just enough time to recognize the nearly identical bomber jacket and reddish-brown hair before he registered that tiny little European country that was always hanging around Switzerland – _Lilly, Lien, um, Liechtenstein, right!_ – sprawled on the ground, her face bloodied and her dress in tatters.

The two American's eyes met, baby blue to dark crimson, and the underground scowled viciously. His double's nail-encrusted bat was raised high in the air, and America instantly snapped off a shot as the underground snarled the beginnings of a curse, Allen's forehead leaking a trail of blood as he dropped the bat and slumped to the ground.

Liechtenstein quickly healed, rolling to the side and scrabbling in the nearby bushes like she was looking for something. Before America could scold her for coming to a battle when she was such a young nation and looking for her bow or ribbon or whatever she'd dropped while she should have been running, Liechtenstein snatched up an AK-47 from the ground and turned to face him, a grateful smile on her face.

"Thank you Mr. America." she said with a slight bow, holding the machine gun comfortably and easily as his jaw dropped.

 _Well, then again, her big brother is Switzerland._ He reminded himself blankly, then remembered his duties and gave her a heroic salute. "Hey, no prob. Be careful though, okay? The hero can't be everywhere." he told her brightly, and she nodded, turning around to run deeper into the forest.

"I know, I was going to find Switzy, but your other self jumped me. Bye, Mr. America!" she called, vanishing into the woods and, sure enough, heading towards the sound of gunfire.

America beamed after her, but then the sound of rustling leaves made him remember that the bad guys _regenerated_ here and he whirled around just in time to receive a full-force bat swing to the face. He felt his chin snap back and his neck vertebrae crack, hot pain slicing through his face as the iron nails tore into his skin and darkness slammed down, his legs folding as the ground rushed up to meet him.

America had died a bunch of times over the centuries he'd been around, and while the cause wasn't always the same, the effects were. Blackness, disorientation and a moment of disjointed-ness, and then his eyes would flutter open again and he'd be right as rain.

On this particular occasion however, he was also looking up at his own face in the wrong colors, twisted by fury, and about to bring the instrument of his demise down on his skull –again.

America yelped and quickly rolled out of the way, internally flinching as he heard the solid _thud_ of the weapon meeting the ground, and rolled into a crouch, jumping backwards and thudding into a tree as his double swiped the bat at him again. The blond ducked and dodged frantically, having dropped his gun somewhere in the leaves when he'd been killed.

"Dude!" Alfred squeaked most embarrassingly, staring blankly in terror at his double as Allen swung at him again, acting as if America had done him a deep and personal wrong teeth bared and clenched in a snarl of hatred. "What the hell's wrong with you?!"

"What's _wrong_ with me?!" Allen hissed, his crimson eyes narrowing animalistically, the bat whooshing past America's nose again. "What the fuck do you _think_ is wrong with me, you dumbass-"

_Swing._

"-retarded-"

_Swing._

"-motherfucking-"

_Swing._

"-useless-"

_Swing._

"-inept-"

_Swing._

"-pathetic excuse for a superpower!" 2p!America roared, the spiky nails hissing past Alfred's face as the latter jumped and scampered like a monkey, his baby blue eyes squinted in confusion. Sure, he'd made a few mistakes over the years (I mean, what country hadn't?), and I mean, a lot of his nastier citizens _really_ took advantage of his systems, and yes, sometimes he got a bit overzealous when he was playing the hero, and he _totally_ wasn't as businesslike and clever as Britain or Germany, but this guy, while evil, nasty, and psychopathic, was still _him_. There was no reason for him to be dishing out the flak that America got from the others.

"Why are you so pissy about – _that?!"_ America shot back, his face flushing even as he continued to duck and dodge blows. Admitting your own errors was never easy, and it was made even more awkward by the fact that he was admitting them in front of someone trying to kill him, _while_ they were trying to kill him.

Allen narrowed his crimson-red eyes and paused as America –hopefully subtly– looked for his gun in the leaf litter covering the ground.

 _"Why?_ I'll tell you _why._ Because you behave so _ridiculously_ that nobody even takes _me_ seriously. You're a weak, pathetic fatass, and I'm taking you out _today!"_ he snarled, lunging for his other half just as America spotted his pistol lying on the ground several yards away. He ducked and rolled, snatching up the gun and spinning to aim it, only to cry out in pain as the nailed bat crashed into the side of his skull. Luckily for him, it was only a glancing blow, but unluckily for him, Allen's off-center strike continued down, smashing into the shoulder of the arm that held his gun.

America dodged to one side, the bone in his shoulder crackling as it healed on the spot, and snapped off a shot. Allen hissed ferally in anger, jerking back and to the side as his sunglasses shattered and a long gouge was carved out of the side of his head, gripping his bat tighter and lashing out, his right eye leaking blood. The _real_ America's beloved Texas was already cracked on one side, where Allen had hit him earlier, and his vision was still blurry as the side of his face regenerated. Eyes always took longer to heal, it was something neither Alfred nor any country he knew had ever figured out.

They met and clashed, then broke apart again, blood flecking the trees and forest floor. America was hampered by his limited amount of bullets and the close range, while Allen's bat had a tendency to momentarily bite in and hold onto whatever surface it encountered for a few crucial seconds due to the nails. Although his bat was also slightly unwieldy in the nose-to-nose proximity that they had, the underground was obviously unwilling to let Alfred back up and thusly be able to effectively aim.

**Crack.**

**Swish.**

**Thunk.**

America finally got his opening, kicking his leg up against the bat as Allen swept it at his hip, freezing the weapon in place as the nails bit into his sneakers, his pistol coming to rest point-blank against Allen's nose as his double's crimson eyes widened momentarily.

 **KER-BLAM.**

The criminal underground fell back, a stream of blood spurting down his face, and America sighed in relief, making a face and quickly pumping every round he had into the vacantly staring man's face and head. Unlike Spain and Denmark and Turkey and all the others, he didn't have a sharpened weapon, so to delay the undergrounds' regeneration he just had to put as many bullets into them as safely possible. He only had a limited number of rounds, after all.

The blond put the foot with the shredded sneaker under the nailed bat and kicked it, sending it flying into the undergrowth. Hopefully, after Allen regenerated, it would take him a good long while to find his weapon and go after someone.

A rustle in the bushes behind him made America whirl, his empty gun coming up with a click, only to drop with relief as he recognized his brother. "Canadia! Dude, am I glad to see you!" he said eagerly, and his brother smiled wanly, hair covered in blood and his ax dangling from one hand.

"I thought it was you, but I wasn't sure." he told America softly, stepping closer to the other country and sending a worried glance at the forest around them. "Everybody's getting spread out, eh. We need to get into a big group, or we might get picked off one by one." he muttered anxiously, twisting his ax around and around in his hands, and America grinned, clapping his brother on the shoulder.

"No prob, dude! Let's get back to Prussia and Norway and the others!" he agreed, quickly chambering and loading his gun as they scampered off towards the aforementioned clearing that the fight had begun in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-Posted: February 7th, 2020, 6.01 PM USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: November 7th, 2015, 11.04 AM USA Central Time


	79. In Which We Hatch a Plan

_Arya's POV:_

I watched in quiet appreciation as various 2p!s exploded in showers of blood, Norway calling on what I _thought_ were trolls, but wasn't quite sure, and Romania busily waving his hands and chanting as he stocked up everyone's supplies remotely, using magic as shell rounds and ammunition dropped into pockets and hands, quickly chambered into guns and rifles and emptied into skulls and ribcages. Romano had run off after Spain, who was currently dueling with him, back to back, against six or seven Second Players –even though I knew the real name of the alternate nations, "second player" was still so catchy– near the middle of the clearing. Denmark and Sweden were teaming up against several of the Asian criminal personifications, slowly beating them to a pulp as Finland, perched in a tree just at the edge of the clearing, sniped anything on the forest floor that twitched, keeping the "dead" 2p!s in the clearing down.

I blinked in surprise as someone dressed all in red bolted across the clearing, and Prussia's hand tightened on my shoulder as he snapped off a shot. It hit them in the shoulder, but incredibly the person continued, straight towards the two sorcerers, both distracted with their magics. My eyes widened and I quickly knelt down, clearing the leaves from the dusty ground with a frantic sweep of my arm and grabbing a stick.

Accomplished magicians like England, Oliver, Norway, and Romania could use magic through pure willpower and incantations, but as a novice, I still had to use a pentacle as the classical focus, and I quickly drew out the five-pointed star, then desperately scratched in a few runes before I looked up and saw the red-dressed person almost upon us. My eyes widened and I slapped my hand down on the freshly drawn sigil as a burst of light flashed in the air between them and Romania, sending the 2p bouncing back with a yelp as the two older sorcerers finally realized the danger.

Prussia guarded us as Romania and Norway quickly cast a better circle of protection around the four of us, and the person groggily sat up, shaking their head a few times before looking at us again. I heard Norway suck his breath in sharply as he saw a carbon copy double of himself, only with washed-out eyes and a horrific burn scar trailing down the side of his face to vanish in his crimson sailor suit. His faded blue eyes burned with an eerie kind of desperation, and he lunged forward again, smacking into the newly erected magic barrier and clawing at it, his expression hungry as his eyes darted from Romania to Norway to myself.

 _"Pleeeeeeease…"_ he hissed frantically, his crazed eyes glowing with avarice. "I want it back…give me my power… _you_ have magic, _give it back to me!"_ he howled, throwing himself against the barrier again and again as I yelped and jumped back against Prussia, while Norway and Romania both tightened their guard and edged together as they continued to chant spells.

 _So **that's** what Romania meant by "it's a nasty spell" when Oliver tore the magic away from the 2p!Magic Trio members._ I thought queasily, as 2p!Norway continued to wail and claw at the barrier with his hands, as if he was physically trying to rip our magic away. I gulped and edged behind Prussia nervously, wishing I had some kind of weapon of my own. I wasn't sure _what_ 2p!Norway could do to us in regards to our magic without any of his own, but I _definitely_ didn't want to find out.

The crimson-eyed albino looked at the senior magicians for guidance. "Ey, zat guy doesn't have any magic anymore, yeah?" he asked slowly, flexing the fingers of his free hand and cocking his pistol. Romania paused with his hand outstretched, having been busily blasting 2p!s into oblivion via violet-colored bursts of fire.

 _"Da_ , why?" he asked, quickly muttering something under his breath as the barrier glowed, strengthening.

Prussia nudged my shoulder. "Right, _fraulien_ , you show 'em zat book und figure something out. I'll keep zis psycho away from you." he told me, then laughed his wild, obnoxious laugh and lunged over the barrier, tackling 2p!Norway into the ground and rolling with him, throwing punches and kicks as the washed-out blonde began screaming curses in Norwegian, fighting back with all the ferocity of a cornered animal.

Romania paused, nonplussed, as Norway blinked twice, then smiled faintly. "Unorthodox, but whatever works." he muttered, looking down dismissively and beginning to flip through his spellbook again. I quickly pulled the mirror book from my pants and yanked on their dual sleeves.

"Dudes! Flying Mint Bunny gave me this book, it might help against Oliver!" I squeaked, and they instantly refocused on the thin blue tome I held in my hands.

"Never my forte, but _maybe_ …" Romania muttered hopefully, taking it from me and flipping through it, stopping on a section roughly in the middle. Norway peered over his shoulder as I blinked at the odd-looking pentagram.

"That looks… _different_." I finally said skeptically, and Norway shrugged.

"Mirror magic deals in transversals, reflection, and opposition. This is seriously complicated magic, far more difficult than anything Britain's set you to so far." he explained quietly, then took the book from Romania. "We're going to need to concentrate on this –the both of us." he pointed out, and Romania looked worried as I swallowed hard.

"I don't know a lot, but I can probably keep a barrier going long enough for you guys to set up the pentacle and the runes." I said determinedly, and they both frowned at me, then looked at each other and slowly nodded.

"Right," Romania said as he tucked his book under his arm and rubbed his hands together. "We need a plan. This particular spell won't kill Oliver or send him back –it'll just give him a physical form." he warned me, and I narrowed my eyes.

"Well then, what's the _poi-"_ I began angrily, then paused. _Oliver already has a physical form, so why would they give him one? Unless…_ "You mean, it'll separate him and Britain?" I asked eagerly, and Norway nodded quietly as Romania grinned.

"It won't be doing the much besides that, but against the three of us, standing on his own, Oliver will not find victory easy." the Nordic pointed out smugly, and I nodded a few times.

"Alright, so, what's the plan?" I asked obediently, and Norway turned, beginning to scuff away the leaf litter with his foot so he and Romania could draw on the ground.

"You keep the barrier up long enough for us to mark out the first phase of the spell, then drop it. We'll put up a barrier of our own, while you go and find Oliver. We need him to somehow come into contact with the sigil of his own free will –him stepping on it will work as well as anything else." Romania explained, and I frowned squeamishly.

"Why me?" I asked plaintively: I was literally covered in wounds inflicted by the selfsame person Romania was asking me to lure towards them. The taller blond gave me an unsympathetic look.

"You're better bait: he despises you, and I have a funny feeling that this wasn't what he was planning to happen when he took over. You've ruined all his plans so far, and forced what you haven't ruined. If I was him and I saw you, I'd try to kill you without blinking." he said bluntly, and I sweatdropped.

"Gee, thanks…"

Romania offered me a wan smile. "Trust me, if I had my options, you'd be a thousand miles away. However, I don't, so get into position." he told me briskly, and I interlaced my fingers and pushed my hands out, cracking my knuckles, before turning around and nervously picking up Romania's spellbook.

"Try page 8, third spell down." he said from behind me, before turning around and beginning to help Norway clear a patch of ground. I quickly flipped to the appropriate spot and saw that the incantation was nothing I couldn't handle –the willpower and focus was the trickiest part. I imagined myself in one of Britain's heavy, tea-smelling black cloaks and cleared my throat, beginning to chant as I watched 1p!s and 2p!s clash and roll around in the thickly wooded forest, my fingers white around the edges of the spellbook.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-Posted: February 7th, 2020, 6.05 PM USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: November 8th, 2015, 1.38 PM USA Central Time


	80. In Which We Power Punch Play

_Arya's POV:_

"We're finished!"

I let out a sigh of relief, dropping the wavering magical barrier I had set up as another, stronger one sprung up in its place, turning around to see Norway standing behind me, his indigo eyes sharp and focused. Romania was still kneeling on the ground by the elaborate, highly detailed pentagram they had just drawn out, scattering leaves over the sigil in an attempt to cover up the markings from Oliver so he wouldn't notice what he was on top of until it was too late.

Hopefully.

Norway nodded towards the battling groups of people. "Go on, we've got things in hand here." he said, shooing me away with one hand. I stared at him, my face pale.

"Uh, dude?" I asked timidly, pointing to the forest beyond their barrier. "Psycho homicidal killers who hate me, no weapon, and I don't even know where Oliver _is?"_ I squeaked desperately, he looked at me, deadpan, for a moment.

Two quick green flashes made me wince and close my eyes, and when I opened them again, Norway was holding some kind of pistol in one hand, and a compass in the other. "This-" he grunted in his monotone voice, chucking the compass at me as I caught a few inches away from my chest. "-will lead you to Oliver. And this-" Here he wrinkled his nose as he handed me the gun. "-is for _defense_ in the face of _death_. Remember, we need him alive."

I raised an eyebrow, carefully undoing the safety and racking the slide on what seemed to be a pretty powerful handgun. "What about the other 2p!s?" I asked as I lowered it to rest by my side, and Norway gave me a withering look.

"Shoot to kill, _selvfølgelig_." he muttered condescendingly, and I rolled my eyes, then looked down and checked the odd little compass he gave me. There was a green glowing dot in the upper right quadrant, and even as I watched, it twitched from side to side, jumping around like a static spark.

"You're represented by the middle of the compass, the green is Oliver. Go get him, kid." Norway muttered, shoving me across the barrier. I had just enough time to remember Oliver had been ahead of me and to my right before quickly picking myself up and taking off across the clearing, dodging bullets, tussling bodies, and curse words. Finland, perched in a tree on the other side of the clearing, made sure my way was relatively clear and I waved absently to him in gratitude as I plunged into the forest. Screams, curses, and the sound of various weapons hitting flesh echoed around me as I darted into the scrub, my right hand gripping the pistol tightly and the compass digging into the palm of my left.

I quickly wiggled my way through the thick bushes and shrubbery, then dove behind a tree and pressed myself against the cool bark, panting as quietly as I could as I checked the compass again. The glowing dot had moved to the upper left quadrant, and I cautiously peeked around the tree, my whole body tensing in preparation for a fight-or-flight response.

I quickly ducked back behind the solid trunk as a short man dressed in red dragged a much-taller 2p past my tree, also dressed gaudily in bloody colors, shrieking threats in what seemed to be some kind of Nordic language. The taller one, whom I figured to be 2p!Sweden by his happy and somewhat vacant smile, was twiddling a knife between the fingers of his free hand while the shorter one, whose identity I guessed by process of elimination (I'd already seen Norway, and this guy was too tall to be Iceland and too short to be Denmark) was toting a large, semiautomatic rifle.

"Hurry up!" 2p!Finland screeched, yanking Sweden's wrist again as they crashed towards the clearing I had just left, clearly intent on joining the fight.

I waited until I was sure they were gone before sucking in a huge breath and darting out from behind the tree, running towards where I had last seen Oliver's glowing green dot.

After about a minute, I squirmed underneath a large evergreen shrub, one of the only plants that still had foliage, to check the compass again. _Same spot._

I peeked through the needles, checking for enemies, and then was off again like a shot, dodging enemies and allies.

This nerve-wracking game of leapfrog continued until a huge magical explosion –you could tell it was magic, because I had seen very few explosions that were pink– roared into the sky ahead of me, the shockwave zooming past and sending leaves and debris flying into my eyes. I shielded my face with my arm, then stuffed the compass in my pocket and bolted towards where the source of the explosion seemed to be. Not counting myself, there were three magicians in this forest, and two of them –the ones on my side– were in the opposite direction of the explosion.

As I got closer, I noticed that there was a large clearing ahead of me that _probably_ hadn't been there before this afternoon, since a lot of the razed shrubs and tree stumps were still crackling with slowly-dying pink and purple embers.

I snuck right up to the edge of the magic-made clearing, hiding behind a large oak tree and peeking around the edge. Sure enough, Oliver was in the center of the razed space, giggling like a maniac as he blasted Germany, Russia, and a bunch of other countries I didn't recognize with red bolts of magic. I could see the magenta swirls in his eyes from here and winced, also noticing the tense posture of his shoulders and the amount of teeth his ecstatic grin was showing. Living with Oliver for several weeks had taught me his body language: despite all appearances to the contrary, he was _pissed_. Probably because of me. Probably because of me who was about to intentionally piss him off even more. Because it was necessary. Because I had to.

_Because Romania is a logic-using asshole._

I mentally ran through my list of insults and what 2p!England was supposed to hate, swallowing hard before stepping out from behind the tree and bringing up my gun.

"HEY, _FRECKLEFACE!"_ I shouted as loudly as I could, then gulped as Oliver instantly whipped around, his eyes swirling with so much magenta the blue was almost blocked out.

 _" **What did you just say to me**?"_ he snarled, and my whole body quaked with fear as I raised the gun a little bit more, my fingers tightening on the handle.

"You heard me!" I yelled back, squeezing the trigger as the gun bucked in my hands and the bullet zipped past Oliver's nose.

 _Shit, I knew I was a bad shot._ I thought disconnectedly, then squeaked as the psychotic Englishman streaked towards me, his face twisted with anger but still wearing that eerily cheery grin. I turned and dove full-pelt into the force, my knuckles scraped and bleeding from the gun's recoil but really not caring at all about that right now, hearing Oliver cackle behind me.

"Running won't help you, it'll just make it more amusing when I catch you! Come _back_ Arya, let's have some _fun~!"_ he sang, and I ignored him, jumping over a wooden log and fighting my way through a bramble thicket.

"Fuck your fun!" I called over my shoulder, keeping everything in me focused on _running_ and _not running into_ somebody on the other side. I had a head start on Oliver, but he was a country on his own ground, not to mention a magician: he was catching up fast.

 _Magician…_ I thought desperately, then blinked and quickly chanted under my breath, grinning as I heard Oliver yelp furiously, having run straight into the magical equivalent of a brick wall. However, my grin faltered and failed as he quickly brought his own magic to bear on it, and the barrier I had put up instantly shattered under the sheer force of power. I'd known Oliver was a strong magician, but words failed me at _how_ powerful he was.

I was suddenly struck with the image of a very small, very helpless animal facing off against a glacier; strong, implacable, and able to roll right over the top of me with the same ease I would have in stepping on a bug.

I ducked my head and quickened my pace, bolting past a startled 2p!Russia as Oliver pelted along behind me. The only reason he hadn't caught me yet was the thick ground cover, the forest luckily filled with tangled bushes and extraordinarily helpful bramble thickets helping to slow him down and impede his progress. It did the same for me, true, but I had grown up on a farm surrounded by a very similar kind of forest: I knew how to wriggle my way through, he didn't.

I saw the clearing where Romania and the others were ahead and increased my pace desperately, knowing that once Oliver had a clear shot he would probably try to jinx me with something. The only reason he hadn't before was that a magical ricochet in this thick jungle of bushes and trees would almost certainly cause a forest fire, and he wasn't _quite_ that level of crazy.

 _Yet._

Getting there, though.

Glancing up as I burst into the clearing, I saw Finland on the ground, probably having been knocked or shot out of his tree by his double, who was bleeding on the ground with another group of undergrounds. The small Nordic was back-to-back with Denmark and Sweden, both of whom were chopping their way through the resurrecting 2p!s.

"Hey, Finland! Slow him down for me, please!" I shouted breathlessly, and the smaller, usually happy man turned, seeing Oliver running after me and probably nearly at my heels. His brown eyes narrowed, and he quickly hoisted his rifle and fired off six or seven shots, and I grinned as I heard a series of furious –and extremely sanitized– curses behind me, spotting Romania and Norway just a few dozen meters away.

A mixture of terror and hope gave wings to my feet, and I streaked across the clearing like a bullet with Oliver only a few paces behind, ducking under the magical shots that both of the other sorcerers fired our way, ostensibly to keep Oliver away from me, but in reality only intended to egg him on further. I saw the glowing orange wall they had set up shatter as Oliver chanted something behind me, pushing myself just a little bit further as I saw the artfully scattered leaves, then felt a cold and steely hand close around the back of my neck and jerk me to a halt-

 **FWOOM**.

A soundless explosion burst under our feet, and I hurriedly shut my eyes as the bright white light nearly blinded me. I felt Oliver's grip slacken and spasm on the back of my neck, as if he was in pain, and heard a _thud_ as someone dropped to their knees.

My watering eyes opened again as the glow faded, and an ecstatic grin grew across my face as I saw a slightly discombobulated-looking England standing in front of me, in all of his grouchy and _tsundere_ glory.

His green eyes suddenly focused sharply, looking behind me, and an insincere grin stretched his lips. He marched past me without a word and grabbed Oliver's wrist, wrenching his hand off of me as I turned, seeing that Oliver had indeed been the one to fall to the ground, his baby blue eyes stunned, as if he physically could not believe what was happening.

"Oh _Oliver_ , I have something to say to you~" Britain said sweetly, making his double look up mechanically, a perplexed look on his face, as if unable to fathom why Arthur was holding his wrist. I beamed at the musical sound of fist meeting face and the crunch of broken cartilage as Oliver shrieked and flew back, hitting the ground on his ass with a broken nose and blood pouring down his face.

"DONT FUCK WITH ME OR MY APPRENTICE EVER AGAIN!" Britain roared with a malicious grin worthy of his pirate days, brandishing his bloodied fist at the shocked and bleeding 2p. Oliver's mouth worked a few times, as if he was trying to say something, his eyes still shocked, before focus came back into them and he grimaced, holding a hand to his bleeding nose.

"I'm not done yet." he mumbled sulkily, scrambling to his feet and backing away from the four of us without breaking eye contact. Romania and Norway formed ranks behind England as I, for lack of any appropriately threatening spell, brought up the gun again.

"Piss off, bastard." I sneered, and Oliver bit his lower lip in anger, whirling around to march away from us angrily. The others shifted nervously and I fumbled the trigger on the gun as Oliver snarled and whipped out his hand, sending an explosive curse streaking across the clearing as the screams around us rose and bodies fell. Romania snatched me by the sleeve as Norway grabbed Britain's shoulder, stopping the both of us from diving after 2p!England as he began laying out most of our allies a truly monumental temper tantrum.

"Plan! We need a _plan!"_ Romania yelped, and I stopped trying to fight my way out of his grip as Britain glared evilly after his rampaging double.

"Make it quick." he snapped, and the four of us went into a group huddle.

"Right, Britain and Arya, you two need to go out and subdue as many Second Players as possible. Spread the word that Oliver and England are now in two separate bodies and we need to restrain and deliver as many of the alternate nations to this clearing as possible. Norway will start cooking something up to keep them imprisoned, while I go and get the alternate Prussia and bring him here." Romania rattled off briskly, and both me and England blinked.

"What?" we asked at the same time, Britain probably confused as to why we were listing a 2p as our ally, and me confused as to why Romania would need to go get him.

The Slavic nation eyed us both impatiently. "Britain, it's a long story, but he's on our side. Aryana, we're going to be constructing a portal that will send the Second Players to a world that isn't theirs, isn't our own, and isn't yours. To do that, we'll need a person from each: not to mention we're going to need to add Gillen as a qualifier, so he won't get sucked into whatever world we send the 2p!s to and get mauled when they find out he was helping us." he explained briskly, and I paused for a second, thinking, then nodded a few times.

"Alright. Let's do this." I agreed, and Britain smiled wanly at me, giving his brethren a nod of his own.

"Right. Send me a message when you're done, and we'll come back." he said industriously, flexing his hands a few times as a green glow outlined his fingers.

"I've been itching for some revenge against these oh-so-clever twats."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-Posted: February 7th, 2020, 6.13 PM USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: November 9th, 2015, 11.46 PM USA Central Time


	81. In Which the Dead Come Marching

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About Gillen, he's not exactly a bad guy, but do remember, he's the criminal side of the nation. He's only interested in three things; survival, sustaining his incredibly slim morals, and cigarettes. The "incredibly slim morals" are really the only reason he's helping the 1ps, and the "survival" bit is why he isn't actively fighting with them. The cigarettes will, of course, be there no matter which side he chooses. I don't even remember why or how I made him a chain smoker, but damn, it's really stuck.

_3rd Person POV:_

Gillen absently stubbed out his cigarette, curling his tongue around and around the new one as he stared at the sun, setting slowly over the rooftops of London.

Apparently "under the radar" connoted taking refuge in a place very different than the "original" nations, i.e. a flat in one of London's more high-end districts. Some of the nations' human servants had gone ahead and removed all reflective surfaces from the flat –which made shaving an interesting experience– and informed the cleaning staff that "Mr. Schmidt" preferred to clean his rooms himself.

The criminal underground had found it extremely surreal so far to have not only enough food to eat, but running water _every single day_ , and permission to smoke whenever he wanted, as long as he did so out on the balcony. He'd also had (several) offers to cut his hair, but he decided in the end that he preferred letting it stay the way it was. He did get the ends trimmed though, which was nice.

He'd also bought a pistol and several rounds of ammunition for "just in case".

It was nice to see how things had progressed in the hundred-odd years that the criminal undergrounds had left this world, though. Oliver had made the switch sometime before the beginning tensions of WW1 –which all of the criminal undergrounds had been very relieved about as the war went on– and erased all of their information sometime between the intervening years and now, so modern technology was sometimes a bit of a pass for Gillen. It'd taken him _ages_ to figure out how to use a smartphone, especially since most of his knowledge had come through an awkward angle in the mirror, usually over someone's shoulder or under their elbow.

Anyway, he was calmly leaning against the wall of the balcony sometime around three or four in the evening, working his way through his fifth cigarette pack of the day. It was a bit chilly and he was waiting for either the confirmation or denial of Arya and the others' victory. Fighting was far too much effort, not to mention he didn't relish the idea of a confrontation with Matt, Vladimir, or, _Gott_ forbid, _Oliver_.

Gillen suppressed a body-length shudder at the very idea.

_Nein, danke._

A sudden sharp crckle-snap in the room behind him made Gillen whirl, yanking the gun out of his belt and aiming it at the interior of the room.

"Whoa, whoa!" a familiar voice shouted, and Gillen slowly lowered the gun as Romania stepped out of the shadows of his apartment, his knees going weak with relief.

"Don't _ever_ do zat again." he rasped, sticking the gun back in his belt as the blonde nation cracked a wan smile.

"Yeah, yeah. Prussia, we need your help." he said bluntly, and Gillen raised an eyebrow.

"I thought I told you-" he began impatiently, but Romania waved him aside.

"Listen, do you or don't you want to live past the next few hours?" he asked sharply, narrowing his eyes as Prussia _hmphed_. Nevertheless, the Slavic nation continued. "We're going to be constructing a portal that'll send all of you undergrounds into a world that isn't yours, isn't ours, and isn't Aryana's, and we need someone to be the qualifier for your world. And, if you don't want to be sucked into the portal with the rest of your brethren, you'll need to be on-site so we can exclude you from the spell."

Gillen considered that for a few seconds. Luciano and the others would've known he'd been missing for several weeks, and when they got sent to this "other-other world", it wouldn't take them long to figure out that Gillen had betrayed them. Apathetic as his help had been, it'd still been rather crucial towards their doubles' efforts, and if he was within harming range when _England_ found out…

Gillen cringed visibly.

"Right…let's go zen."

_Arya's POV:_

"Nice to see you again sir, by the way." I said happily as Britain used his yellow-tinged magic to blast several 2p!s screaming across the clearing, his poisonous green eyes alight with satisfaction.

"It's good to be back, Miss Thompson." he agreed politely, every inch of him the posh English gentleman, as he continued to rain fiery death upon the unfortunate doppelgängers. We'd more or less eliminated all the opposition in the clearing, with China, Denmark, Romano, Prussia, Finland, and Sweden busy making sure that all the 2p!s taken down would _stay_ down until Romania and Norway completed the magic sigil, which was more or less taking up the entire space.

The other countries had tied most of the undergrounds up with magically enhanced rope, everyone but Romano and Prussia –who guarded the prisoners– lying in wait until another one stumbled within range, taking them down and out and then tying them up as well. I saw at least two dozen 2p!s tied up and being guarded by my two friends, with more on the way.

By Britain's calculations, as we both hid behind a tree and waited for more prey, we'd caught and taken out roughly nine-tenths of the 2p population, and also by his calculations, Oliver had summoned _all_ of the 2p!s to this world.

 _So, once we've sent them all on, they're gone for good._ I thought with no small relief, keeping my gun in a ready position and scanning the clearing as Britain busily flipped through his spellbook. So far I counted 2p!Italy, Japan, Germany, and China in the little knot of prisoners, but not Allen, Matt, or, most importantly, Oliver.

Britain lightly tapped my shoulder and jabbed his thumb to the left: I nodded and switched the safety off on my gun. As one, we pounced, and Britain hissed in satisfaction as what I guessed to be 2p!Greece was taken down and out, a glowing net of yellow-green wrapping around the struggling brunet and holding him still, then all on its own dragging him back to the clearing as I kept my guard up, making sure nobody was gonna jump the two of us while Britain's guard was down.

A rustle in the bushes made us both whirl, however Britain and I relaxed as we saw America and Canada pushing their way towards us.

"Hey dudes!" I greeted cheerfully, and America's face lit up as he saw the two of us standing together.

"Britain!" he cried happily, nearly bodychecking Canada out of the way as he lunged for the older blond and wrapped him in one of the American's full body-compression hugs.

"AMeRI-CA!" Britain squawked as all the air was obviously crushed out of his lungs, kicking and wriggling in either an attempt to hug America back or lay his ass out.

Probably a mixture of both.

"You okay?" I asked Canada as I helped him up, and the ordinarily mild-mannered blond smiled and shrugged candidly.

"I'm fine, eh. I'm just glad to see those two patching up their relationship." he whisper-spoke, pointing to the duo before us, with Britain rapidly turning purple from loss of air, anger, or embarrassment (or all three) and America laughing obliviously.

"Um, dude, you might want to put him down before he passes out." I pointed out, sweatdropping, and America blinked, looked down at the nearly-unconscious Britain, before hurriedly letting go and instead starting to mother-hen over his former brother-figure, asking if he was alright.

"Oi, oi! Back off, you bloody American twat! I'm _fine!"_ Britain shrieked as soon as he got his air back, batting America's hands away with a truly god-worthy frown on his lips. However, I could see the edges tilting up, as if he was secretly delighted with America's concern and doing his best not to show it. I was pretty sure America saw it too, because instead of protesting, he just grinned and stepped away.

" _Tsunderes_ …" I sighed in exasperation, then blinked as America whipped around to face us, grinning.

"So dudes, what's the plan?! C'mon, I wanna kick some 2p ass!" he shouted, doing a fistpump and bouncing up and down in place as I giggled and Britain rolled his eyes.

"Stop slaughtering the English language, for the love of God." he muttered, closing his eyes and then opening them again as he bent down and picked up his spellbook. "Right America, what we're doing right now is capturing and dragging as many of the Second Players as we can back to that clearing that all of this fighting started in. Romania and Norway are cooking something up and we need as many of our alternates as humanly possible under control before they start it." he explained, and America grinned.

"Hey dude, no prob! I took out Ukraine's other self –she's scary– and a few other ones with Canada just a few seconds ago! They probably won't have regenerated yet, c'mon Mattie!" he yelled, grabbing Canada by the arm and hauling him off into the undergrowth, the smaller blond's quiet protesting fading as America dragged him farther and farther into the woods.

"He's such an idiot…" Britain finally muttered as the sound of the North American brothers eventually faded out, and I smirked and nudged him.

"But he's your little brother all the same~" I teased, and he gave me one of those withering glares that he had practically honed into a weapon of mass destruction.

"No more comments from the peanut gallery, if you please." Britain said icily, and whipped around, stalking off in the opposite direction of America and Canada. I followed behind him, keeping my guard up in case of ambush.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-Posted: February 7th, 2020, 6.19 PM USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: November 9th, 2015, 7.10 PM USA Central Time


	82. In Which We are Stayin' Alive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For everybody's weapons, Britain and the other magicians can use magic to create more bullets and whatnot out of hammerspace and give them to the fighters, so that's why people who were previously out of ammo can still reload and keep fighting. It's not because I'm forgetful, nor because they have cosmo pockets that can hold a million rounds.

_Arya's POV:_

I quickly ducked under Allen's punch, then spun around and fired off a shot at 2P!Canada, who had nearly gotten a grip on my hair. The tall brunet snarled as Britain screeched a curse, a barrier flickering up between America and me as I quickly buried several rounds in his abdomen and chest. My aim hadn't improved since I'd shot at 2p!England, but at least the bullets seemed to be slowing him down.

A looming presence at my back reminded me to squirm and weave out of the towering Canadian's grasp, firing at him until I clicked on empty and dropping my gun without hesitation, ducking and rolling under the swing of his hockey stick.

Britain had suddenly noticed via his own little magic compass-thing that the amount of our allies in the more western parts of the forest battleground had been steadily decreasing, and run at full pelt with me trailing behind. The reason revealed itself to be these two and 2p!Russia, whom Britain had already stopped with a makeshift jinx that resulted in the sour-faced giant being stuck waist-deep in the solid ground. It kept him down but not out, and luckily for me, on the other side of the magic barrier Britain had suddenly and hastily erected, leaving me to deal with 2p!Canada and him to deal with 2p!Amercia and Russia, although he really just had to avoid the general area around the latter, since he was stuck fast in the ground.

Matt was quite enough for me to handle on his own though, thank you very much.

Since I was completely unarmed now that I had run out of ammunition, I had to resort to one of three things; a stick from the forest, a rock from the ground, or magic. Of those, I would have honestly preferred to find a nice pointy stick: my aim with rocks wasn't all that good either, and my magical knowledge was a bit moot. Britain had only just begun teaching me actual spells and formulas instead of techniques when Oliver had snuck into the _Hetalia_ world, and at that point of course, the idea of any kind of training was fucked. However, the time it would take for me to find the stick was inversely proportional to the time it would take for 2p!Canada to bash my brains out with all the self-righteous anger of a woman thrice scorned, likewise with a rock, so magic it was.

I ran over my depressingly short list of magical spells I could comfortably master, then decided to go with what I knew and was working well for me today. Still ducking, rolling, and weaving with all my might as Matt laid waste to the bracken around me, I chanted under my breath and flicked my fingers, watching with a breathless grin of triumph as he smacked facefirst into the glowing barrier I had just magicked into existence.

However, unlike Britain's, mine only stretched for a few meters before terminating, and after 2p!Canada shook his head a few times and noticed the gap, he bolted for it. I chanted again and snapped my hand forward, and sure enough, a second barrier appeared as he snarled and struck out at it with his stick in rage. Luckily, that gave me enough time to magic the third barrier into being, and Matt whirled around in a circle, screaming in wordless fury as he realized I'd trapped him in what was in essence a box of magic.

I fistpumped in victory and turned to scoop up my gun, turning to see Britain land a solid right hook on Allen's solar plexus as the 2p hacked and wheezed, his crimson eyes wide with surprise as he involuntarily dropped to his knees. Britain quickly grabbed him by the skull as an electric crackle slammed throughout the underground's body, and Allen dropped to the ground, unconscious.

I looked at my teacher with surprise and a healthy level of new respect. "Dude, I didn't know you could lay someone out like that." I commented admiringly as he looked at my box and pushed his hands together in midair, shrinking his magical barrier to match my own and then walking over to me.

"Yes, well, I had my days as a hooligan." Britain reminded me primly as he twitched his collar straight, as if after beating the crap out of someone he had to remind himself of his more "gentlemanly" image. He glanced at the swearing 2p!Canada, who was cursing us, the forest, and just about everything else in existence as he clawed at the magical walls around him. "I say, that was good thinking under pressure." he commented approvingly, nodding to the box as I sweatdropped.

"Technically it was quick thinking to avoid pressure, as in direct pressure to my frontal cortex." I muttered under my breath, and he gave me a _"really?"_ look before turning his attention back to the other 2p and knocking him out with the same zapping trick he used on Allen and, as I looked again, 2p!Russia.

_3rd Person POV:_

_"Eins, zwei, drei, vier, fünf, sechs_ …" Germany muttered, his pistol clicking down to empty as various Second Players fell to the ground like leaves. Italy had excavated a small dugout behind him and was cowering inside, waving his white flag and "vee"ing frantically. The little _dummkoff_ could be useful at times, and he really was the best friend Germany had ever had, but it was times like these when he seriously wished the happy-go-lucky Italian would grow a spine.

Russia was backing him up on his right side, while Taiwan and Iceland were covering his left flank, and the alternate nations, while nowhere near as numerous as they had been at the start of the battle, were still thick on the ground and very, very angry. To be brutally honest, Germany wasn't even sure what had brought Italy to this battle in the first place, instead of thousands of miles away with all the micronations and weaker countries, where it was –at least in theory– safe.

_Well, whatever. He's here now, and the little idiot needs me to protect him._

"Hyah!" The familiar battlecry broke through Germany's concentration, and he looked up in shock to see Japan burst out of the forest and sweep off the heads of several 2p!s in one stroke of his sword, then spin to meet the blade of another. The quickly regenerating bodies were suddenly pounced upon by China and Sweden, who both carried large coils of rope.

They quickly tied up the slowly-reviving undergrounds, and when the 2p!s finished regenerating and began to struggle, the ropes glowed green –and held. China met his eyes from across the clearing, and the older nation grinned excitedly. "We have a plan now, aru! Take as many of them out as you can! _Ayiah!"_ he shouted ferociously, turning to roundhouse-kick an attacking underground into unconsciousness.

"Vee, HELP ME GERMANY!" Italy suddenly wailed from behind him, and Germany whipped around to see his best friend choking and struggling in the grip of an extraordinarily unkempt France. He instantly launched himself forward, shoving other Second Players to the side furiously.

"HEY! GET YOUR HANDS OFF HIM!" Germany bellowed, interrupting Italy's pathetic screams of _"please don't hurt me Big Brother France why are you choking me I promise I'll give you soap and nice things to clean yourself off just please don't kill me I don't want to diiiie!"_

The Second Player of France just smirked as Germany ran towards him, snapping Italy's neck without effort and then casting his lifeless body to the side as he drew a rapier. The bulkier blond saw red, and lunged towards the alternate nation with a roar. He didn't care if that blade was poisoned or magicked – _nobody_ hurt his best friend like that.

He was so furious that he actually grabbed the blade, the edges cutting into his palms before he snapped it in half, turning 2p!France's expression from smug to shocked as Germany grabbed the grungy man by the forehead and smashed him into the forest floor, caving his skull in brutally. He noticed as Turkey wove his way through the struggling nations with a loop of the enchanted rope and kneeled beside his victim, quickly tying him up and starting to drag him off beyond Germany's line of sight, then dismissed them both, wiping the blood off his hand.

Then he had eyes only for Italy, and watched as the Italian featherbrain's glazed amber eyes flickered slightly, and then his eyelids drooped and he sat up quickly, a startled look on his face. "Germany!" Italy cried happily as soon as he noticed the other nation, and the bulky man smiled and held out a hand, helping his friend to his feet.

"Are you alright, Italy?" he asked in concern as the smaller Italian rubbed the sides of his neck, and Italy gave him a sunny smile.

"Vee~ Germany, I'm fine! C'mon, I bet the others need your help!" he said eagerly, pointing to the quickly loosing 2p!s as Germany and Italy's allies beat them into a thin red paste. Germany sweatdropped as he saw Russia calmly intimidating several of the smaller Second Players into surrendering merely by smiling and holding up his bloodied lead pipe.

"Italy, I think ze others are doing well on their own." he told his oblivious companion flatly, then blinked as he noticed movement on the edge of the clearing created by the magical explosion Oliver had caused.

Germany's ice-cold blue eyes lit up as he saw Aryana and Britain step out of the undergrowth and raise their respective weapons, obviously ready and waiting for battle. "HEY! _HIER! HIER!"_ he shouted as loud as he could manage, waving one hand above his head and smiling happily. He was glad that Aryana had made it out alright: all of the horror stories she'd passed around about 2p!England had worried him a lot. Arya blinked, then saw him and beamed, waving back excitedly.

Britain roughly grabbed her by the sleeve and yanked her down, a bullet whizzing past as he did and barely missing her cheek. She smiled sheepishly at her mentor before bestowing the same look on Germany, who chuckled and shook his head. The human was obviously still unused to battlefields and their logic, to do something so reckless.

He plunged back into the fight with Italy sneaking along at his side, and pretty soon Japan sliced his way through the crowd to join them as the two fighting nations shared adrenaline-high grins, still battering their way towards Britain and his apprentice. It had been decades since the Axis had actually fought in battle together, and while Germany certainly didn't miss the circumstances, he had missed the camaraderie that they shared. Italy was even being useful, as the small brunette would without fail find the safest and easiest route to any given location, whether he was aware of it or not.

In no time at all, they had beaten a path to Aryana and England, and the three world powers quickly jumped over the log and hid with their allies. "Vee~! Aryana, I missed you!" Italy chirped happily, giving the human a big hug as he dropped his white flag in the dirt.

"It is nice to see you're alright." Japan agreed politely, keeping his katana drawn as he scanned the forest around them, not dropping his guard one little bit. Germany gave Aryana a smile and a slightly awkward hug, having noticed the bloodied bandages on her hands trailing up under her sleeves and down her collarbone to disappear into her long-sleeved black shirt.

"Welcome back, _Frau_ Thompson."

"Good to see you guys too." Aryana said when he let go, carefully reloading her gun as Britain calmly licked his fingers and began flipping through his spellbook.

"Right, you lot, we've got a plan. As you've no doubt noticed, we're focusing on capturing and restraining the alternate nations and taking them back to the clearing where this all started." he began briskly, flicking his green eyes up at the other three nations. "You don't need to know more than that yet, because _some_ of you-" He very obviously did not look at Italy as Germany grew a gloom cloud, remembering that one time with the Allies in WW2, and Japan sighed resignedly, closing his eyes and shaking his head. "-aren't very good in not spilling secrets to the enemy."

A soft _ping_ made all five of them look down, seeing something in Britain's pocket glowing green. He pulled it out, then looked at the others. "Right, Miss Thompson and I are going back to the clearing. Your _friend_ is there, and we need to get started on the ritual." he said significantly, eyeing the human as her eyes widened. The Axis members all blinked at them, then looked at each other and nodded.

"Good luck."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-Posted: February 7th, 2020, 6.25 PM USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: November 10th, 2015, 10.21 AM USA Central Time


	83. In Which We Have Callbacks

_Arya's POV:_

I stared at the silver-haired, deadpan man as he blinked down at me, his ever-present cigarette glowing in front of his face.

"You an incredible asshole and I really wish you would've warned the others sooner." I told him bluntly, and 2p!Prussia raised an eyebrow at me, remaining still for roughly six seconds before reaching out and heavily placing his hand on my head.

"You are incredibly annoying und I really wish you vouldn't haf gotten caught by Oliver in ze first place." he replied with equal solemnity, scruffing at my hair a few times before letting go and folding his arms irritably.

Romania, Norway, and Britain sweatdropped from beside us, and I turned to face them. "Right, let's do this." I said firmly, and Romania blinked twice.

"Er, right. Aryana, you stand here." he said, pointing to one of the tips of the pentagram's star, right in the middle of a thick forest of runic signs and chains of spell-words. I walked over to it and stood, crossing my arms and waiting as Gillen was placed on the tip to my left and Norway on the one to my right. The three true sorcerers had erected some kind of camouflage, so what we were doing now was not only invisible and intangible to any outsiders, we were also surrounded by an ice-blue dome that shimmered and flickered with power.

I caught Gillen giving it an uneasy look out of the corner of my eyes, and whistled to get his attention, giving him a thumbs up as he looked over at me. His mouth twitched in a sardonic smile, and he pinched the end of his cigarette to extinguish it, putting the spent cancer stick in his pocket as we turned to face the others.

The northernmost point of the pentacle was headed by none other than Britain himself, who had somehow magicked up one of his cloaks. Romania and Norway had the same, and just as I noticed this, I felt something warm and smelling heavily of tea drape around my shoulders, blinking and looking down to see the spare cloak Britain kept in his basement. My teacher gave me a subtle wink as I looked at him questioningly, and I smiled back.

"Right, Gillen and Aryana, you two just need to focus on your worlds and what makes you a part of them, we'll handle the actual incantations. Aryana, if you can, try to drain as much power as you can out of the surrounding area. Keep in mind: this will only work when a Second Player –that isn't Prussia– enters the pentagram's area." Romania began briskly as I saw Norway roll his shoulders beside me, his eyes narrowed with concentration. "So far, England's reported that we've caught almost all of them. When the spell's done, we will need to more or less grab them and bodily fling them into the radius of power, because once we drop this barrier, Oliver will _definitely_ know, and probably come to do something about it." he continued, and I saw Gillen's Adam's apple bob as he gulped nervously. I myself wasn't feeling too comfortable with it either, but, first things first. I'd take Oliver by himself over all of the _other_ 2p!s any day.

"Everyone ready?" Romania asked as Gillen frowned and looked around the pentagram.

"Vhy don't I get a cloak?" he asked raspily, and Romania didn't even spare him a glance as he flicked his book open.

"You won't be manipulating or using any kind of magical power at all: you're just a sample, if you would, to make sure we don't send the criminal nations back to the world that you originally came from. _We'll_ be summoning and controlling magical creatures, which means we need cloaks. Aryana gets one because she's an apprentice." he said, bulldozing right over Gillen's protest as the 2p eyed me skeptically.

I shrugged at him in an apologetic sort of way, and he settled for rolling his eyes and looking away, muttering about how "it isn't _our_ vorld, Oliver just saw it und took it".

Britain gave him a withering look before asking again. "Are we all ready?" he said briskly, and I nodded as Norway, Gillen, and Romania copied the movement.

"Right, let's begin." Britain hummed, throwing his arms out as his cloak swooshed dramatically. _"Shinjiteru koto aruze, yousei, Noroi, yuurei, mahou! Hiniku demo tashinami nagara waratte, waratte, susume!"_ he and the other members of the Magic Trio chanted in unison, and I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to reach down through my feet and use the pentagram I stood on, doing my noble best to drain as much power from the surrounding area as I could. My focus drifted away from my body as sound grew muffled, and stars burst beneath my eyelids as I strained with all my might, reaching out to collect the faint flickers of magic I sensed around me. It was hard –it was a lot harder than Britain had made it sound. But then again, he _had_ warned me, and I was still just an apprentice.

My first and only sign of success was a sensation eerily familiar to being doused in ice-cold water, and I gave a strangled gasp, feeling my sore fingers prickle with pain and my wounds throb as currents of energy flooded into me and coiled, ricocheting around my body like an electric charge.

My eyes flew open and I gasped again, seeing Britain's friend Unicorn thunder past –in midair– with several of Norway's trolls swirling after. A swarm of pixies followed, and then a darkly furred creature that _had_ to have come from Romania, all joining together in a whirling circle of power and magic in the inner sector of the pentacle. Norway was glowing green on my right side, and I squinted through the storm of magical creatures to see Romania glowing violet, with Gillen on my other side staring at the maelstrom of magic with his jaw hanging open. I felt the same awe, but the spinning vortex before me called, no, _demanded_ that I relinquish the power humming through my body.

_"Nanatsu no hoshi wo yomi toite, asu wo uranae karee, chuuka, bessou no meshi! Miito pai, umaize!"_

I began to feel dizzy as I became nothing more than a channel for the gathered power flooding through me and being sucked out just as quickly, the vortex of magic power and the magical creatures feeding it spinning faster and faster, going what Britain would call "widdershins" and I would call "counterclockwise". I remembered Romania's instructions and closed my eyes again, focusing as hard as I could on my world, everything in it, as much as I could: from the comedians I'd watched on YouTube to the restaurant chains to the celebrities to my favorite shows, books, and movies, and I felt my breathing catch in my throat, shallow and gasping, as the magical pull became stronger and stronger and I could actually see the glow of the vortex through my eyelids and the others' chanting grew louder and louder-

A strangled whine rose in my throat as the _pressure_ kept building and building, it couldn't keep going like this, we were all going to get _crushed_ , why were the Magic Trio still chanting, couldn't they see it was getting out of control and it was going to smash us to bits, please, I wanted to stop, I wanted to stop…

**_"Fiat!"_ **

A concussive force very similar to a sonic boom but without the actual impact _slammed_ through my diaphragm, and I dropped to my knees, wheezing, as the glow almost instantly faded to nothing. I heard the mutters above me as Britain, Norway, and Romania dismissed their familiars and magical allies, glancing over to the side to see Gillen knocked back on his ass, staring at where the magical vortex had been with the most expression I'd ever seen him have. It was mainly dumb shock, but still, I was impressed, and I would be even more impressed once I stopped feeling like I was going to either be electrocuted from being a magical conduct or fall apart from the aftershock of the same. The cloak helped, though: it was warm and comforting and even though it also reeked of tea, right now tea was an oddly soothing smell.

I heard footsteps approach and felt someone pat my shoulder gently. "Very good job, Miss Thompson." a light British voice said from above me, warm with approval, and I lifted one hand in a groggy thumbs up, still feeling rather weak at the knees. More footsteps approached and I heard Norway speak above me.

"Romania's dropping the barrier, now. We need to get off of the sigil." he said bluntly. I heard Gillen quickly scramble to his feet and bolt for the edge of the pentagram, and Britain grabbed my arm and draped it over his shoulder, helping me to my feet.

"Come along now, Miss Thompson. Let's get you off of this." he said coaxingly, and I walked with him, my legs still feeling like jelly.

"Why am I all screwed up and you guys are fine?" I asked sullenly, and he smirked from beside me.

"The three of us are used to it, and the alternate Prussia didn't use any magic at all. It will get better with time, don't worry." he assured me confidently, and I watched nervously as the ice-blue dome flickered and then vanished like a wisp of mist in the morning sun as Romania finished removing it.

Almost as soon as it was gone, I yelped as Denmark, standing at the edge of the pentagram, threw two tied-up bodies into the circle, which glowed as they vanished in a burst of light. I stared as several of the other nations formed a fireman's chain, quickly passing the 2p!s along the line and chucking them into the circle as they blazed white and vanished.

Britain clicked his tongue in approval beside me as 2p!China, his face a mask of fury, landed on the pentacle and slowly began to dissolve. "I say, that's a rather good idea." Britain commented, and I shot him a nonplussed look.

"It's freaking _weird."_ I muttered under my breath, watching the psychopathic criminal personifications being tossed like bales of hay from one nation to another until they reached the circle and were more or less eliminated from our concerns.

However, smugness is a truly horrible thing, and I grinned as I saw 2p!America thud onto the pentacle. "Hey _dollface_ , how's payback feel like?" I called mockingly, and he whipped his head around, murder in his crimson eyes as he began to struggle violently, screaming increasingly more graphic threats at me before he began to dissolve. Luciano skidded to a halt a few feet away, his feathered hat missing and his magenta eyes ablaze with anger. The large, bloodied hole in his uniform denoted a shotgun, and speak of the devil, I glanced over to see Romano and Prussia walking towards us, smug grins nearly identical to my own on their faces.

"Revenge is a very sweet thing." Romano said proudly as he stopped to gaze at the pentacle, sticking his tongue out at the rapidly dissolving Luciano, and Prussia grinned and slapped the smaller male on his back.

"Damn straight it is!" he agreed, looking towards the 2p!s in the pentacle with a grin. "SUCK IT LOSERS, YOUR ASSES HAVE BEEN BEATEN BY ZE AWESOME PRUSSIA!" he shouted ecstatically, flipping them the bird with both hands as I snorted and Romano tried very hard and very obviously not to laugh.

"Bloody hooligans, the lot of you." Britain muttered from my other side, and Prussia caught him in a headlock, still grinning wildly.

"C'mon brohaus, tap into zat inner pirate of yours! Join us in the laughing and mockery of our enemies!" he said cheerily, sweeping his arm out to indicate the struggling Second Players. Britain shoved him off with an oath and dusted his green military outfit off industriously, pausing as Gillen suddenly edged out from his position under a tree.

"Hey, Matt!" he shouted, and I blinked in surprise as I saw 2p!Canada tied up at the edge of the sigil, his violet eyes furious as they landed on Prussia's Second Player and he obviously realized whose side Gillen was really on. The dull-eyed albino grinned a slow and triumphant grin, tilting his head to one side. "You vere right~" he singsonged, jabbing a thumb at me and the others. "I am a traitor. Und, most unfortunately for you, I'm un awesome one."

2p!Canada then vanished in a dazzle of white light, luckily for Gillen, because Matt looked fully angry enough to wriggle his way out of the pentacle like a snake if it meant he could get his hands on the double-crossing Prussian. The aforementioned underground was grinning softly to himself, having lit one of his beloved cigarettes earlier under the tree and was now puffing up a storm.

He then let out a yelp of shock as Prussia suddenly glomped him and spun him around in a circle, cackling like a maniac. "He said it! Mein gloomy double said it!" Prussia crowed excitedly, grinning at Gillen with ecstatic red eyes. "He said it! WE! ARE! AWESOME!" he declared to the skies above, letting go of Gillen with one hand to do a fistpump of victory. His chain-smoking double shoved him away, glowering at the other albino.

Then a small, subtle smirk grew on his face. _"Ja._ Ve are awesome." he agreed quietly, and Prussia looked like he was about to spontaneously explode with pure joy.

"Did you hear that?! He said it again! He said it again!" he cried excitedly, grabbing me by the cheeks and pointing at Gillen, as if I hadn't been able to hear it for myself.

Romano rolled his eyes as Britain pried the two of us apart. "This is all very well and good, but Oliver may show up at any moment, and we need to keep on our toes." the Englishman said primly as I rubbed my face, trying to regain feeling in it, and Gillen flicked his lighter a few times, trying to relight the cigarette Prussia had blown out with his enthusiastic hug.

Romano suddenly pumped his shotgun and leveled it angrily, the loud **cha-chak** making us glance in his direction. "Or, the _Inglese bastardo_ might already be here." he growled, and I gulped and turned, seeing what the spunky Italian was aiming at.

Oliver was standing, furious, at the edge of the clearing, practically glowing with power and with all of the other nations, Romania and Norway included, laid out on the ground. Our only consolation was that all of the other 2p!s had already or were currently dissolving in the pentagram. Oliver's magenta-swirled blue eyes met mine, and a feral grimace of a smile stretched his lips.

"You're going to lose, poppet. You're going to lose, and you're going to die, _today."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-Posted: February 7th, 2020, 6.32 PM USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: November 11th, 2015, 1.20 PM USA Central Time


	84. In Which We Advent Time

_Arya's POV:_

"Uh…Britain?" I squeaked, squirming out of my heavy cloak as Prussia growled and snatched his pistol from his belt, aiming it at the underground threateningly, along with Romano. Gillen and I were busy trying to be unnoticed behind the 2p's other self, who was standing quite still, his eyes narrowed at Oliver.

"Prussia, Romano, you two stay here with me. Aryana and –Gillen, was it?– please leave immediately. Run as quick as you can." Britain said staunchly, and my eyes widened.

"Wait, dude, _hang on-"_ I began worriedly, but Gillen grabbed me by the waist and chucked me over his shoulder, backing away with his eyes fixed on Oliver in a way that reminded me very much of a cornered animal.

"C'mon _fraulien_ , we're no use here." he muttered to me as he turned and increased his pace, melting into the forest, and I squeaked and began to struggle as I saw Oliver's mouth move and another pink explosion decimated the place where Prussia, Romano, and Britain had been standing –only they were no longer there.

 _"Dude!"_ I gasped as Gillen ran like a champion racer, his shoulder digging and bouncing uncomfortably into my stomach with every step. "We -have -to -help -them!" I choked, my teeth rattling, and Gillen only ran faster, if not outright sprinting already.

"Look _fraulien_ ," he snapped as he vaulted over a log with one hand and hit the ground with a _thud_ , continuing to run. "I believe in survival of ze fittest, und right now, zat definitely isn't you or me, it's zat psycho bastard England. Ze only zing to do ist run." he explained, and I grabbed his shoulder, hauling myself upright indignantly.

"The others are staying, and they're trying to fight him!" I retorted, and I felt Gillen shrug dismissively.

"Zeir funeral." he muttered, and I punched him in the back.

"Put me down you–you long-haired _sissy!"_ I shrieked and he skidded to a stop, yanked me off his shoulder, and pinned me to a nearby tree trunk with both hands.

"Listen _fraulien_." he hissed, his face not two inches from mine, and I coughed as the reek of nicotine fumes washed over me. "I don't particularly like running either, but if it saves my skin, _so sei es_. I don't wanna die." His dull blue eyes shifted to the side uncomfortably as he muttered the last bit, and I scowled and punched his shoulder.

"Newsflash, neither does 99.9 percent of all intelligent and nonintelligent life. If Oliver beats the others-"

 _"When_ Oliver beats the others." Gillen interrupted sulkily, glaring right back at me as I gave him an evil look.

 _"If_ Oliver beats the others, there's no way in hell he's not going to come after us, specifically me. " I repeated stubbornly, still glaring him down. "What are you gonna do then, smart guy? You promised that you'd stick with me the whole nine yards." I told him, my voice weakening slightly on the last portion as I cringed. Technically Gillen really had no emotional or even mutually beneficial ties to me, now that the other 2p!s had been sent to wherever they were sent to. His choices were to run now –and face getting hunted down later– or to stand by me and face Oliver all by ourselves.

"Technically all I ever promised you were eight." he muttered under his breath, his thoughts paralleling mine as his bangs hid his eyes in shadow. I didn't blame him for his reluctance to face the other underground: I'd only been living with Oliver for a month and the guy fucking terrified me. Gillen had known him for upwards of four or five hundred years.

"Look, it's not like I want you to go after him, guns blazing, but some assist would be nice. Or you could at _least_ let me go back and help the others." I begged, and he looked at me slowly, his dull blue eyes sweeping me up and down in a single measured glance.

_"…die…"_

I blinked up at him. "Huh?" I asked dumbly, and Gillen looked away from me, his face turning slightly red.

"If I die…bury me in Brandenburg. With the kings." he muttered again, barely louder than his previous whisper, and I blinked at him twice before his words sunk in and, despite the situation, I grinned slightly.

"Aw, you _are_ patriotic. How cute." I teased, and 2p!Prussia glared at me, his eyes narrowing.

"Never tell zat idiot Gilbert, or so help me _Gott_ , I'll make you vish you'd never been born." he hissed ferally, and I involuntarily gulped and flattened myself against the trunk, suddenly reminded that yes, Gillen was one of the 2p!s too, even if he was (mostly) nicer than the others.

"Um, right dude." I said nervously, and then the penny fully dropped and I grinned again. "So you're helping? Like, seriously helping?" I asked him, and he glared at me and backed away, letting me step away from the trunk of the tree.

 _"Ja, ja._ Must be _Ficken_ suicidal, but zere it ist." he said dissmisively, waving a hand at me and then turning to look at where brief flashes of glowing light gleamed irregularly through the trees and scrub. "So…got any weapons?" he asked suddenly, looking at me, and I blinked, then grabbed the pistol Norway had conjured for me from my pocket and showed it to him.

"Um…this?" I said in a small voice, and he took it wordlessly, tuned it over a few times, clicked a few things, and made a face.

"Not vhat I'm used to…but it'll do." he finally allowed, then looked at me. "Vhat about you?" he asked, clearly realizing that the gun wasn't mine and that I wouldn't have been using it unless I had no other choice.

I laughed uneasily, rubbing the back of my head, before spotting something on the ground and bending over with grin. "Why have weapons when you can have pointy rocks?" I chirped happily, tossing the fist-sized rock up and down in one hand.

Gillen stared at me for a few seconds before a sweatdrop formed on his head.

 _"Mein Gott,_ you're weird."

_3rd Person POV:_

"Aryana and –Gillen, was it?– please leave immediately. Run as quick as you can." Britain said firmly, and the three nations stood their ground as they heard Gillen snatch up Arya and bolt for the relative safety of the forest.

Oliver smiled grimly, the malicious glitter not leaving his eyes, as Prussia cocked his gun and Romano aimed his shotgun higher.

"Well well _well_ , my three biggest annoyances…" the strawberry blond mused, clicking his tongue lightly as he intertwined his fingers and pushed out, sharply cracking the digits as his smile ever-so-slightly widened. "I've been hoping to run into you all alone like this for a very long time."

"Stay on or within the boundaries of the sigil." Britain said in an undertone to the others. "Oliver can't cross into it without the magic starting to affect him."

Prussia nodded along with Romano, both keeping the barrels of their respective weapons trained on Oliver. "Right, potato bastard's older brother, you can go hand-to-hand with the freak. I'll stay here and provide cover fire." Romano said tremulously, and Oliver smirked, his mouth and hands moving in an incantation. A blast of purplish-pink fire exploded around them and Romano yelped, skittering backwards with Prussia, whose crimson eyes were wide with fear.

However, the blazing hot fires deflected to the sides and the top, and both of the Axis nations turned to look at Britain, who was standing with both feet firmly entrenched, his own hands outstretched and a confident smirk upon his face. The yellow-green glow of magic was thick in the air around him, making his cloak flutter slightly at the edges.

The purple-pink fire died as Oliver closed his fists, a dissatisfied and slightly angry look on his eternally grinning face. Romano looked, impressed, at the Anglo-Saxon, as did Prussia.

"You're not the only one who's learned a trick or two over the centuries." Britain taunted his double, smirking wider as the faintest hint of a scowl flickered over Oliver's grinning face and he lowered his hands. 

"Well that's just flipping _fantastic!"_ the candy-colored man suddenly howled, flicking his arm out as a bolt of crimson-red light shot out and smashed against the shield Britain had hastily erected.

"Romano, Prussia, try to distract him, wound him, _anything!"_ Britain hissed quietly, his face paling as a trickle of sweat dripped down his jaw. "He's a lot stronger than I am!"

As he spoke, the wall of magic he had put up shimmered and disintegrated, and all three of them dove out of the way of the next magic blast. Romano aimed his shotgun and fired: however, the shell burst on a purple dome that had surrounded Oliver, as did Prussia's bullets. The elder Italian brother cursed savagely and pumped his shotgun, shooting again at the purplish shield that the cannibalistic magician had put up. Prussia also contributed, although he seemed to be aiming more for Oliver's eyes than the Second Player's torso. Romano figured that was because of the smaller size of cartridge: the shotgun shells he was firing were designed to spread _on_ or _just before_ impact and blow some poor motherfucker's ribcage inside out. The potato bastard's pistol was more designed for capping the same motherfucker in a quick, relatively clean and semi-painless fashion.

It might not have been _harming_ him much, but at the very least the constant rain of gunfire was keeping Oliver distracted and stopping him from directly attacking them, which was giving Britain plenty of time to cook something up.

Unfortunately, there were not many spells in Arthur's arsenal that would work against –literally– himself, and furthermore, a lot of the ones that _could_ would've harmed the countless unconscious nations sprawled around the clearing. That was a definite out: _America_ was there, and Canada, and that stupid frog-face-jerk-who-would-have-been-a-very-good-friend-if-he-wasn't-so- _French_. A large, general-area magical attack was out of the question, likewise summoning anything big, mean, and hungry to just _eat_ their unfortunate foe, and Oliver was more than his match if he decided to face him in an all-out sorcerer's duel.

Britain hated to admit it, but his options were depressingly scarce. A less optimistic person would have said they were nonexistent, but the thickly-eyebrowed man always tried to keep his chin up.

"That's _enough!"_ Oliver screeched petulantly from behind the magical wall, stamping his foot. Britain gasped as a shockwave of magic slammed out from the other blond, consuming the shield he himself had put up and rippling outward towards the other three nations. Prussia yelped and dropped his pistol as Romano did the same, shrieking in pain, the metal suddenly burning white-hot in their hands and actually melting in midair, so that the guns were nothing but a puddle of molten iron and plastic by the time they hit the ground. Britain hissed and dropped his magic book as it too ignited, fluttering to the ground in a patter of ash and burning paper fragments.

Oliver's eyes were actually, physically _glowing_ with his hoarded power as he took a single step towards them, his fists clenched tightly. "I've _had_ it with you three." he snarled, his face still twisted in that macabre grin that has as much real mirth in it as a rotting skull. "Always getting in my _way_ , _messing_ up my plans, and just in general causing trouble. Why can't you all just _behave?!"_ he shrieked rhetorically, stomping his foot again. This time it did nothing, probably because it was out of anger and not part of a spell.

"I tried to be gentle. I tried to be nice about it. You didn't have to die, you were just going to all fade away and you wouldn't even notice until you were gone, but _oh_ no, you three just _had_ to take the _stubborn_ route." Oliver hissed, slowly stalking towards them with all the ominous doom of an unholy executioner. "You had to _struggle_ , you had to _fight back_. All I ever wanted was control. Was that _too much to ask?!"_ he snarled, his voice raising as he went on.

"I've had experience with this kind of nutjob. Don't answer back and don't say anything else either." Prussia muttered imperceptibly to the others as Romano swallowed hard, nursing his burned hands, and Britain narrowed his eyes. Oliver, true to the form Prussia had predicted, took no notice and kept ranting.

"Control is everything, control is what makes all the pieces fit together. You tried to _take it away from me!"_ he howled, and Prussia and Romano hit the deck as another shockwave of pinkish-purple magic shot towards them. Britain remained standing beside his comrades as the light hit a faint greenish curve in front of his hands, protecting himself and the other nations, the edges of the magical shield fracturing as Oliver turned up the power to reckless amounts.

 **Ka-BLAM!**

Oliver jerked backwards as a spout of blood escaped his forehead, the magical pressure instantly letting up as Britain let out a sigh of relief and dropped his shield. However, the magic also swirled and coalesced around the unconscious 2p, absorbing back into him, making approaching his body extremely unsafe.

Prussia picked himself up, muttering German curse words under his breath, as Romano looked regretfully at the now-cooling pile of molten steel and plastic. Now would've been a perfect time to further incapacitate Oliver, but with their weapons all gone…

"Wait, _Gillen?!"_

The Italian looked up in shock at Prussia's voice and scrambled to his feet, seeing the potato bastard's brother confronting his alternate, along with England. The longer-haired albino was standing near the very edge of the sigil, eyeing Oliver warily.

"I thought I told you to _run!"_ Britain was fuming as Romano backed towards them, but Gillen waved him aside.

"Listen, we don't haf much time before Oliver regenerates. Aryana has a plan, but ve need to get Oliver as close to ze sigil as possible." the chain-smoker rasped urgently, and Romano folded his arms prissily.

"In case you haven't noticed, that's exactly what we're trying to do!" he snapped, and Britain huffed in agreement.

Gillen glared at them both. "Ve just need him to get close, not jump in. Trust me, she has _ein_ plan." he said patiently, then glanced over Britain's shoulder, seeing Oliver's fingers begin to twitch.

"And ve should probably get into position now." he added nervously, and Romano cursed freely as he whipped around and remembered he was defenseless, not having his gun. Prussia darted out of the circle as he did and grabbed a fallen branch, hefting it like a makeshift club as he stepped back into the sigil. Gillen tossed Romano his gun and pulled a pocketknife out of his hoodie, flicking it open with a _snap_.

"Knew you had something in there." Prussia muttered triumphantly, and Gillen spared his other self a halfhearted smirk.

 _"Ja_ , vell, zat's me. Full of surprises." he shot back quietly, but Britain hissed in warning, interrupting them, as the glow finally faded and Oliver sat up, his eyes now almost purely magenta.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-Posted: February 7th, 2020, 6.43 PM USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: November 13th, 2015, 1.53 PM USA Central Time


	85. In Which the Nations Fall

_Arya's POV:_

Hanging around countries had certainly helped my strategic skills: before today, any "plan" I could've come up with would have almost certainly have ended in my defeat and extraordinarily painful demise.

Well, it probably still would anyway, but at least I had hope, optimism, and a completely irrational sense of confidence.

I could hear the various shrieks, thuds, and oaths in three different languages that marked the fight between Oliver and my allies, but I didn't rush. One small misstep would signal not only the failure of my plan but my almost certain death. No, screw that, it would mean my _instant_ and probably _painful_ death. I was alone, a novice sorcerer's apprentice with only a minimal grasp of magical theorem, a pointy fist-sized rock, and a plan that was literally formed within twenty seconds and based off a quote I read in a fantasy novel. Since I wasn't in the magical sigil –which Oliver was apparently doing his be-damned best to destroy, by the sound of it– I didn't have the long-distance insurance the others did. If Oliver saw me, he could and most certainly _would_ kill me with nothing but his bare hands and _maybe_ a blade, if I got lucky. Magic wouldn't be required or considered –I'd pissed him off too much for that.

That was what my admittedly rather reckless and suicidal plan mainly hinged upon.

I quietly crept up to a tree trunk, working my way inch by inch towards the clearing. Slowly peeking my head out from behind the protection of the rough bark, I saw Oliver firing off bolts of sorcery like some kind of freakish magical machine gun, forcing Gillen, Romano, England, and Prussia to duck and dodge, scampering around the still-glowing sigil. Romano, who had somehow appropriated the gun Norway had conjured for me, occasionally snapped off a shot, but his opportunities to aim were few and far between and he was obviously unused to the make and model of the pistol. Gillen had a pocketknife in one hand, but he was mainly just dodging and obviously waiting for an opportunity.

Prussia had a long, black-burned stick of wood that he used to block any of Oliver's shots that came his way, but it was steadily becoming more and more charred and fragile. Even as I watched, another crimson bolt of magic slammed into the log and the top half simply broke apart as fractured charcoal. Prussia discounted this completely and hurled the remains of the stick like a javelin towards Oliver with great accuracy, and even I winced at the sharp _crack_ that made the Second Player's head snap to the side. Almost as soon as I did I realized it would make him look my direction and shrank back against the tree, closing my eyes and silently counting to ten.

The sounds of battle continued –Oliver obviously hadn't seen me.

I sucked in a deep breath, then another, peeking out from behind the tree again to see Oliver engaged in a more magical kind of combat with his opposite. I gulped as I realized that even as he did, he was still powerful and skilled enough to continue fighting against Romano and the two Prussians singlehandedly, without even the appearance of concern; just anger.

My breathing increased as I pressed myself against the rough bark of the tree, my heart thumping in my chest. The more pissed off he was, the better it was for my plan. Angry was good. Angry was very good.

It was also very scary.

So much of this depended on stupid dumb luck. I might've judged his character completely wrong. Oliver might not find killing me with his bare hands as satisfying as blasting me away with a bolt of magic. He might move too fast for me to dodge –he was a country after all. I might not be able to get into position before he spotted me. Britain's magic barrier and the sigil along with it might be destroyed by Oliver before I could put my plan into motion, and then _everything_ would go to hell in a hackey sack.

I squeezed my eyes shut tight and shook my head slightly, forcing myself to breathe in quick, even pace. _No._ That wouldn't happen. I had to believe this would work, I had to make this work, or we were all dead. I knew what Oliver was like, I'd read about him for years before I'd ever even met him, and then I'd lived with him for weeks.

 _Pride went before, ambition follows him._ Oliver might be childish and crazed, but he was also egotistical and arrogant. I'd been a thorn in his side almost since his plans had started. He would want the _personal_ satisfaction of killing me that could only be brought by his own two hands, not by destroying me with magic or even by eviscerating me with a knife or blade. He'd want _closure_. He'd want _revenge._

After all, that was kinda what we had promised each other just before he had been "evicted" from England's body for the first time.

_Vengeance versus vengeance._

_Hatred versus survival._

_Might and magic versus wits and luck._

_Centuries of experience versus sixteen years of normalcy._

_Immortal nation against extremely mortal human._

And by god, I was going to win this.

I tried to continue regulating my breathing, still watching for the right moment or series of moments. Right, _right._ Okay, now England and Oliver were shrieking insults at each other, the latter getting more filthy-mouthed than I'd ever heard him before (which meant he said _bastard_ exactly once and _damnit_ twice), their insults varying from each other's clothing choice to magical prowess to sexuality, and despite the very serious situation, I had to bite my lip and stifle laughter at my teacher's extremely creative –and accurate– choice of Oliver-related epithets.

Romano was out of bullets and had thrown the pistol away, instead choosing to pick up a small pointy stick, holding it out in front of him like a sword. Prussia had only his fists, rocking back and forth on his heels in a professional stance, while Gillen's eyes subtly flicked around the forest, his knife in one hand, looking for me. Looking for my signal.

_It's now or never._

Keeping close to the ground and moving as carefully as I could, trying not to disturb the crunchy leaves both on the ground and still desperately clinging to the shrubs and bushes surrounding the clearing, I inched towards the struggling nations.

 _Move slowly. Move carefully. Predators are attracted to movement. Wait. Wait._

Like a sick game of red-light green-light, I inched carefully across the forest floor, keeping directly behind Oliver. The real danger would come when I had to move into his peripheral vision, where he might be able to see me moving out of the corner of his eye. The trick here was not to get too close –I didn't want the all-too-clever underground to figure out my plan– but not too far away, because Oliver could probably move at least as fast as a panicked Italy when he was angry.

I licked my lips as I came to within less than a few meters of Oliver's back, and gave Gillen the most significant look I could manage, not even trusting myself to nod. A tiny smirk twitched at his lips, and he subtly flipped the pocketknife in his hand, reversing the knife to hold it by the blade.

"Hey, _arschloch!"_ he suddenly shouted, causing all eyes –Oliver's most importantly– to turn to him. He snapped his arm forward, the tiny blade flashing in the weak October sunlight before it sank into the other underground's shoulder, making Oliver hiss and grab it by the gleaming hilt. "You can't even beat un Italian und two former nations, not to mention yourself!" Gillen taunted as Prussia looked at his double and then at Oliver in horror, roughly elbowing his alternate's side.

"Brohaus, shut _up_ …" he hissed urgently, his eyes wide with fear. Romano glared deeply, probably because of the "an Italian" reference, while Britain just stared in shock.

As they were speaking, I nudged around to the side opposite of Gillen, who was still insulting Oliver with the worst things he could think of, keeping him distracted, building his temper. I needed Oliver to be in a blind fucking fury once I made my move –he'd marched closer to the sigil and was just a few _tantalizing_ yards away.

I was nearly even with him, and I loosened my grip on the rock, which I had been clutching all this time. Slowly, slowly, because I was just about dead across from the 2p and he would've definitely seen me had he been calm, I pulled my arm back, squinting as I aimed.

The cuts on my shoulders and arm throbbed. My healing bruises ached. I ignored them all and focused, my whole world narrowing to the strawberry blond who was literally shaking with anger, and then I cocked my arm back and threw with all my might.

My plan? It was very simple.

_I've seen slung stones bring down a king._

**Whap**.

As expected, Oliver's head snapped to the side and then he instantly whirled, his eyes shining with fury and contorted with rage as he quite obviously figured out it had been me. Without any kind of thought or reasoning I suddenly threw myself to the side, gasping in shock as I hit the ground and felt the breeze of a certain someone's passing shoot by me. I scrambled to my feet and bolted, feeling the most murderous aura I'd ever sensed in my _life_ close behind me.

A cold hand locked around my heel and brought me to a halt, slamming into the ground, but my previous, similar experience with 2p!America had taught me where to aim as I instantly slammed my other foot back, breaking his nose with a satisfying _crunch_ and loosening his grip. I was just barely within the margins of the circle as I rolled sideways, feeling him grope for me regardless, blinded by anger, blinded by hatred, and I squirmed out of the way, before grabbing him by the wrist.

In a split second, in that one split second as I took hold of him, I think he figured it out. Why the others had been making their stand without me. Why Gillen had so recklessly taunted him. Why I had thrown the rock at him instead of just running for safety. It was to piss him off, to make him loose his temper so he wouldn't realize how close he had come to the deadly pentagram when he ran after me. But it was too late for Oliver to squirm out of it now, and I threw myself sideways, further into the circle, with all my strength, my grip on his wrist and his lighter frame taking Oliver with me.

The Second Player, the non-Gillen Second Player, was now within the boundaries of the magic circle.

Oliver hissed in panic and ripped his arm away from me, pulling back, but I swallowed my overwhelming fear and lunged forward, grabbing him by the shoulders, and used every last bit of my strength to bodily fling him further into the pentagram. He might've been a nation, and a powerful one, and a strong one, but the fact remained, body to body, he was smaller than I was. Oliver hit the ground with a _thud_ and rolled, anger flickering in his eyes as he sat up nearly in the dead center of the magical array.

Prussia and the others swiftly backed out of the pentacle and spread out around its margins, making sure Oliver could not leave, as I shakily got to my feet.

"I win." I told him softly, and the British underground smirked icily.

"Oh, you think you have, poppet?" he sneered, coming to his feet as well, swaying a little bit. He was glowing white at the edges, starting to dissolve, but his blue eyes, no longer swirled by magenta, never left mine, burning with hatred. "You think that casting me into another world will _stop_ me?" he spat arrogantly, and I sneered and lifted my chin at him.

"Maybe, maybe not. But by the time you'll get back, I'll be long gone." I retorted, and he "tched", looking away. I could practically see the cogs moving in his head as Oliver tried to find a way out of this situation, and the slowly growing look of realization and anger upon his face. It was subtle, so subtle that at first I thought it might've been a trick of the light, but it wasn't.

He really could think of no way out.

Oliver whirled, looking to see if maybe he could fight his way out, his body already halfway gone, stepping towards England.

"Don't." I advised him dryly as Oliver whipped around to glare at me again, his clenched fists trembling. I tilted my chin and cocked my head, still smirking, feeling like I thoroughly deserved this one parting joust. "Running won't help you, it will only make it more amusing." I quoted sardonically, and 2p!England's eyes flashed with fury.

Oliver threw himself at me one last time, but before he even got halfway, he disintegrated in a blast of white-edged light. I grunted in discomfort, shielding my face with my arm, before the light faded and I lowered it.

Oliver was gone.

Completely gone.

There were no more 2p!s.

It was only the slowly stirring 1p!s, laid out across the clearing and who had probably been under some kind of spell to keep them from regenerating. It was only me, Prussia, Gillen, Romano, and Britain, staring in disbelief at where Oliver had last been.

Romano sat down on the hard-packed earth with a thud. "We…we won." he said dumbly, and Prussia blinked twice, an ecstatic look slowly dawning on his face.

 _"Fraulien_ , we _won!"_ he repeated excitedly. He grabbed me by the shoulders and kissed me wildly on both cheeks, then crushed me in an equally ferocious hug and jumped up and down like a giddy schoolboy. "WE WON! WE WON! _WIR GEWANNEN! WIR GEWANNEN!"_ he howled in truly ecstatic glee, adding a whole other string of German expletives that were so fast and so incoherent I couldn't have translated if I tried, my teeth rattling as he continued to jump up and down like a mad jack-in-the-box. Prussia then grabbed Romano and yanked him up into the victory hug, still shrieking in joy as the Italian flushed slightly and averted his eyes, as if daring me to make a comment, before fiercely hugging me too and burying his face in my shoulder.

"C'mere Gillen, join in!" Prussia crowed from above me as I twisted my head to see the only remaining underground standing a few feet away from us, his dull blue eyes carefully averted from the happy hugging scene. He subtly shook his head, and Romano glared and freed his arm from around my waist, reaching for the albino.

"Oh no, if I'm forced to do this, _you're_ forced to do this." he said angrily, grabbing Gillen by the sleeve and meshing him into our group hug as his ever-present reek of cigarette fumes joined and overwhelmed the faint scent of tomatoes (Romano), beer (Prussia), and blood (myself).

I stood in the middle of the hug, Prussia's arms wrapped around my shoulders, Romano's around my waist, and Gillen awkwardly having his arms around all three of us and quite obviously wishing for a less public display of affection. All three men were hugging with all their might, however, and my arms were securely pinned to my sides as I giggled halfheartedly. Oh, how the fangirls would murder to have this position.

But it was over. And that was all that mattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-Posted: February 7th, 2020, 6.52 PM USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: November 14th, 2015, 12.07 AM USA Central Time


	86. In Which We Rest, Relax, and Recuperate

_Arya's POV:_

Everything moved fast after that. Britain had gone to check on the others and confirmed that yes, it had been a spell keeping them down and out. Prussia had shifted his grip and was hugging the three of us with all his considerable might, still cackling about victory and his awesomeness and all other things related to that.

As the others regenerated, they came over, patting me on the head or one of the boys on the back, congratulating us and sharing a few taunts of victory. Gillen looked uncomfortable to be in the center of so much attention, and not just any attention, but _positive_ attention. Unfortunately for him, Prussia's grip extended to his shoulders, and the more ecstatic albino wasn't letting go for neither love nor money.

France and Spain bounded over, quickly joining their comrade in the forceful group-hug as I felt Romano turn red, his arms still awkwardly pinned around my waist. More and more nations joined in on hug until the four of us were smothered in cheering, hugging bodies, everybody embracing everybody else and shouting about our victory. Prussia's hold was finally broken –luckily for him, because I think Romano was about to do something violent from all this mushy prolonged contact– by the sheer mass of bodies, and I was grabbed from behind by America, who was shouting something about heroism and hugging me with all his might as I felt my ribs creak, smiling through the sting of pain and sucking in my breath like I had been taught. Spain snatched me from America's grip and spun me in a circle, shouting happily in Spanish before I was glomped by someone else. I could see the others getting much the same treatment, Britain and Romano blushing bright red at the unexpected amount of physical contact. Prussia was still cackling like there was no tomorrow, and Gillen was looking shyly flattered by all the friendly attention.

I hugged and was by hugged by every nation I knew, and a great many more that I did not. I was finally spun around to face Britain, and grinned mischievously, throwing my arms around him and squeezing.

"C'mon dude, be social a little!" I snickered as my mentor tensed and tried to squirm away, and he sighed, averted his eyes, and hugged me back. We both let go after a few moments, and Britain blinked in concern, looking me up and down as I swayed a little in place.

"Are you alright?" he asked politely, laying a hand on my arm, and I gave him a weak thumbs up.

"Sorry dude, but I have just been hugged by all of the _Hetalia_ characters. Fangasm is imminent." I told him firmly, then felt my legs give out as a squeal rose on my lips.

_***Time Skip***_

After everyone had calmed down, we had gone to a hospital where I was admitted for just about every nonfatal knife injury in the book, not to mention a semi-fatal dose of arsenic poisoning. All of my wounds were professionally dressed and treated, my nails left to heal –which would apparently take anywhere from three to six months, since there was literally nothing to be done but protect the nail beds from damage and wait it out. I was eternally grateful for Britain's (and the other's) red-tape management for my first few weeks, since I was pretty sure every doctor in the establishment suspected me of participating in gang warfare or something equally illicit.

The nations I had befriended visited almost every day, leaving so many flowers that my hospital room looked like a florist's shop. On Halloween, the Magic Trio visited with a bouquet of gigantic orange and black flowers, which dispersed an intriguing scent all night. Prussia had also swirled in, dressed as a vampire, and tried to spook me (it didn't work) with Romano in tow, who was dressed in a very stereotypical devil outfit, complete with the dorky little red horns and forked tail.

Gillen, surprisingly enough, had Switzerland with him when he visited, stating that he was helping the prickly blond in his job as a nation. I'd given them both an odd look, since a _criminal_ underground helping out with business was a bit of a misnomer, but if Gillen was happy and Switzerland didn't have anything turning up as missing, I suppose it worked.

Britain was currently with me as I practiced my sit-ups, the cuts all over my body finally having healed enough for the nurses to allow me to do so. I'd lost a lot of the built-up muscle mass that I'd had previous to Oliver capturing me, and was working hard at getting it back.

"It's a shame, to cut your magic lessons short." my mentor said, watching me dispassionately as my torso flexed and relaxed. "You'd make a good sorcerer."

I spared him an apologetic look as I reached the apex of my sit-up, slowly lowering myself again. "Sorry dude, but I really should be getting home. I've been missing since July, and while my parents aren't particularly observant, even _they'd_ have noticed and started worrying by now." I told him, continuing my exercises as the nation stared with disfavor at the large vase of multicolored roses from France, his lip curled.

"How's the whole spell-finding thing going?" I asked after a few moments, and Britain sighed heavily, running a hand through his sandy-blonde hair.

"Quite well. We… actually did find correct spell, just a few days ago. Do you have a specific date that you wish to go home on?" he asked hesitantly, and I paused for a moment, then shrugged.

"Dunno. Um, next week, or something?" I asked, and Britain glanced over at the calendar on the opposite wall.

"Hmm…November 20?" he asked briskly, his green eyes moving over to me as I continued my sit-ups. "That gives everyone two weeks for the _inevitable_ histrionics." Britain added, his voice so dry it seemed to suck the moisture out of the air. I smirked at him.

"Would yours be included?" I asked sweetly, and he threw a get-well card signed in a big loopy scrawl –Italy's– into my face.

"Stop doing crunches. It's sent all the blood to your head and stopped your extremely minimalistic brain from functioning." he said tartly, marching out of the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-Posted: February 7th, 2020, 6.55 PM USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: November 14th, 2015, 8.32 PM USA Central Time


	87. In Which the Road Goes On

_Arya's POV:_

I nervously fidgeted in place as the Magic Trio finished chanting, the pentacle glowing large and green in front of me. All the nations who knew me were gathered together, all preparing to say goodbye. I was wearing one of the more casual outfits I'd bought with the Axis, along with Prussia's awesome black Gilbird trenchcoat and Spain's admittedly comfy fancy shoes.

England approached me, his cloak swishing dramatically behind him. "I managed to recover your phone; don't ask where Oliver hid it." he told me dryly as he handed me the small electronic device, complete with the signed Italian flag phonecase. His cheeks flushed slightly and he looked away. "We've all put the best enchantments we could on it. It should work anywhere and everywhere, no matter the condition or reception. Across worlds and through dimensions, specifically keyed to you, so it cannot be lost or destroyed until your death." he added, obviously slightly abashed at the extraordinary and rather thoughtful gesture.

I took my phone and hugged him tightly without words, my apocalypse bag slung over my shoulder.

"Right, go say your goodbyes now." the goddamned _tsundere_ said briskly after a slight pause, pulling away from me just as I started feeling emotional, turning to see two very familiar Asians approaching me.

"Good luck and safe journey home, aru." China said, giving me a big hug that I returned, sniffling a little. We hadn't exchanged much words, but he really was a nice guy.

Japan, standing a few feet away from his former brother-figure, bowed to me from a safe distance, an extremely faint smile on his face. "It was an honor to have your acquaintance. Best of ruck when you get home." he wished me, quietly handing me either my _tanto_ or something absolutely identical, and I bowed back, grinning slightly.

"Don't ever change, man." I chuckled as I put it in my bag, and squealed as I was viciously hugged from behind and actually lifted up off my feet from the force of it.

"Aw man, what're we gonna do without you?!" America yelled tearfully into my back, and I squirmed.

"You could put me down?" I squeaked faintly, and he luckily got the message, setting me back down on my feet again with a grin. America beamed and sneakily wiped a tear from the corner of his eye.

"Make sure to send me lots of pictures of your house when you get back! I wanna see what your version of Virginia's like!" he demanded, and I grinned and hugged him back.

"Sure thing, dude." I told my home country, then let go as he backed away.

Canada shyly approached, giving me an extremely gentle hug as I gleefully wrapped my arms around him and squeezed. I grinned deliriously into his shoulder.

_I get to hug the kawai-est little fuck ever: Canada fangirls, eat your heart out._

The aforementioned country muttered a soft _"maple"_ into my ear, and when I let go, he was blushing brightly.

Canada backed away, and a tap on my shoulder made me turn around and smile awkwardly at France's stubbled face. _"Merci, mon cher."_ he said proudly, kissing me on both cheeks and then giving me a tight, almost fatherly hug. "I wish you 'appiness wherever you go." he added affectionately.

I hugged back, burying my face in his shoulder. I had to bite back a somewhat watery laugh: he smelled like cheese, just like all the other nations always bitched about. We let go and I stepped away, looking up and craning my neck back as Russia approached.

"Hey there, dude." I said with a smile, which he returned pleasantly.

I braced myself as I was lifted up in another bone-cracking hug, and awkwardly squirmed one arm free to pat him on the back.

"I will miss you." Russia said sadly into my shoulder, and I tremulously ruffled his hair, half-prepared for Belarus to come out of nowhere and snap my neck in two.

"Me too, man. Nobody else'll let me drink vodka and play Russian roulette." I said half-jokingly, half-seriously, and he gave a huge sniffling sound that could alternatively be interpreted as either a laugh or a sob. Russia let go of me reluctantly, and I dropped back down to the ground, smiling at him tentatively, because I was starting to feel like crying, and he looked about to burst into (manly) tears at any second.

I felt someone hug me tightly from behind and looked over my shoulder to see Spain, smiling at me with watery green eyes. "You'll say hello to all of us once you get home, _si?"_ he asked, and I nodded, beaming at him as I tried very hard not to cry.

Hungary ruffled my hair lightly as Spain let go, smiling at me and nearly crying herself. "I still think you like one of them." she told me accusingly, her voice muffled in my awesome Gilbird coat. I smiled and hugged her as well, patting her on the back.

"Yeah, and I think you like Prussia." I told her quietly as we pulled away, watching her start and go red.

"H-how did you even-" she stuttered, and I winked and tapped the side of my nose.

 _"Hetalia_ , my friend. You aren't the only one who likes shipping, and PrusHun is a rather popular pairing." I told her conspiratorially, and she blushed as she receded back into the crowd.

Romania popped up beside me and grinned, giving me a quick hug before pulling away. "It was nice working with you." he said, shaking my hand enthusiastically. "We didn't talk much, but I like your moxy." he added with a smile, before making way for the Nordics.

"It was totally cool knowing you!" Denmark said enthusiastically, nearly breaking my ribs in a hug before stepping away and letting Finland embrace me a bit more gently, smiling in the cute little Santa way that he did.

"Good luck in your journey!" he said happily, and I tried not to cower as Sweden towered over his "wife", staring at me, before Finland let go. He wrapped his arms around me, squeezed once, and let go, still looking down at me from his great height.

"G'd job." Sweden muttered, nodding to me once before Norway took the stage, squeezed my hand once in a firm, short handshake, and let go, stepping away. Iceland nodded to me cordially, and I nodded back, not having much (or any) contact with him at all.

Now we were getting into the sad bits again, and I sniffled slightly as Germany approached. _"Danke für alles._ (Thanks for everything)" he told me fervently as I was wrapped in a warm, slightly sugar-smelling embrace (he made chocolate cakes, hadn't I read that somewhere?), and I hugged him back, the water in my eyes threatening to spill over. Without Germany and his somewhat psychotic training, I never would have survived this.

 _"Ich schulde es dir._ (I owe it to you)" I whispered back, and he tightened his grip, then let go, his eyes suspiciously watery as well. Italy tackled me from his place beside Germany, bawling freely as the first few tears slipped down my face as well. Italy was the first person I had met in this world, and in a way, he was the epitome of all things Hetalian.

 _Main character n' all that._ I thought with a sniffle, letting him hug me tightly as I tried to sneakily wipe my own tears away. After all, there was nothing that forbid me from coming back later.

Probably.

As Italy's sobs and promises of pasta faded away, I watched a certain long-haired albino approach me, and offered my curled fist to him, smiling slightly through my tears. Gillen stared at it for a few seconds, then tentatively gave me a fistbump, his cigarette smoldering softly.

"You did good, _fraulien."_ he muttered gruffly, looking at his feet, and I rolled my eyes and grabbed him in a fierce hug, burying my face in his chest as he held his arms away from his body in shock, then slowly settled his hands on my shoulders.

"Why do you all have to be so damn anti-contact?" I muttered into his tattered hoodie, and I felt him ruffle my hair.

"Comes vith being men, _Kinder._ Thanks for…vell, everything. Oliver. Ze revenge. You know vhat I mean." he coughed awkwardly, and I let him go, my tears somewhat drying up as I rolled my eyes at him. Still a deadpan asshole, even to the end.

I barely had time to see Gillen melt into the crowd before I felt another certain someone tackle me in the tightest hug to date, nearly busting my ribs (again).

"You better not do anything stupid without me when you get home." Prussia said chokingly as he stared down at me, attempting to sound like his usual irritating self, and I patted his arm.

"Of course I won't. There's literally nothing stupid I can do in my town anyway." I said flippantly, then chuckled a little as he buried his face in my shoulder. "It's okay to cry, you know." I told him, and he stiffened with false –or maybe not– indigence.

"ZE AWESOME PRUSSIA IS NOT CRYING!" he blurted.

He was bawling his eyes out.

I let him sob, hugging my friend tightly as I let him get it all out of his system. If there was one thing I would certainly miss about Prussia, it was his over-the-top enthusiasm. He made everything he did and said sound so fun and entertaining, like the most serious of situations was merely a joke he played on someone else.

"I'm gonna miss you too." I told him sincerely, and he squeezed me tight, nearly breaking a rib, before letting go and standing to face me, his red eyes watery with tears.

"You…you are officially designated awesome by the awesome me." he said thickly, pointing to me decisively as I felt my own eyes sting and gave him my best (and probably incorrect) military salute.

"I'll wear it with pride, sir." I said crisply. Prussia beamed at me before turning away, and I turned to face one of the last few nations.

" _Krautlet_ …" Romano said in his usual almost-angry tone, glaring at me, before a tiny, tiny smile appeared on his lips, one he was obviously fighting to suppress. "Goddamn it, maybe you aren't completely useless after all, even if you are mostly from the potato bastard." he said in defeat, wrapping me in a truly Italy-worthy hug.

"Very poetic." I muttered into his ear, and he punched me in the arm as he let go.

"Don't make me take it back." he said as he backed away, before his face suddenly crumpled and he burst into tears, sobbing on Spain's shoulder as the older brunet patted his head cheerfully, saying things like _"Mi tomate_ , don't cry" and "I'm sure Aryana knows you'll miss her too".

_And then there was one._

I readjusted my apocalypse bag on my shoulders and marched towards the softly glowing sigil, England standing proud and tall beside it.

"Listen, Britain, I never really apologized for what I said at the conference…you know, with the "pompous" and the _'you throw like Italy'_ and so on?" I said awkwardly, shifting from one foot to another, and he eyed me in amusement.

"I think I can recall." he answered dryly after a few moments, and I gave him a hesitant smile.

"Well, I take it all back. You're the best teacher I've ever had." I told him firmly, and I watched as a red flush slowly crept from the tips of Britain's ears all the way down to his neck.

"And you…were not that terrible of a student." he finally replied stiffly, and I rolled my eyes. "C'mon man, for _once_ in your more-than-thousand-year life, stop being a _tsundere_. Give me a hug." I said in exasperation, opening my arms, and he flinched, blushed harder as he looked at the other nations, and then stepped forward and gave me a hug.

"I knew you could do it." I told him quietly, layers of meaning dripping from the words, and he nodded against my shoulder.

"I am very proud to have had you as my pupil." the nation said softly, before we let go and I looked at the glowing pentacle.

"So how does this work, I just step on it and wait?" I asked curiously, and Britain nodded.

"Farewell, Aryana Thompson." he said fondly as I stepped towards it, and I turned around to face him, smiling slightly with my feet just _barely_ touching the edge of the outermost ring. I let my gaze wander over my magic teacher and the other nations: Prussia, who was no longer sobbing but standing next to a slightly smirking Gillen and looking at me like I was his pride and joy; Romano, who was still crying but had his eyes fixed on me all the same, and all the other friends and allies I had made here. I returned my gaze to Britain and smiled wider, although there was still hints of sadness in it.

"It's Arya. Just Arya." I told him with a slight grin, before stepping backward.

**FWOOM.**

For the third time in my life, everything flipped upside down as I felt myself tumbling helplessly through a continuous, blindingly bright stream of light, my hands wrapping tightly around the straps of my waterproof bag as I felt it being tugged away by centrifugal force, squeezing my eyes shut as the light grew brighter and brighter and the chaotic tumbling sensation grew and grew until–

**SPLASH!**

I shrieked, although it was immediately muffled, as I plunged into water so ice-cold it seemed like fire stabbing into my limbs, thrashing to the surface of the dark, foul-tasting water.

"WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK!?" I screamed into the night sky, seeing snowflakes float down and land in the surface of the –river. I was in a river.

My mind went into overdrive even as my eyes flicked this way and that, taking in the small knots of people dressed in very odd but very familiar clothing walking to and fro, regaining my sense as I swam to shore.

There were no rivers near my house. There were no rivers anywhere near my house.

I felt my body rack itself with shivers as I finally got to shore and stood, wrapping my arms around myself as my teeth chattered and danced. Whatever river I had fallen into, it was so cold there had been literally chunks of ice floating about inside of it.

"E-excuse me, b-but c-could y-you t-tell m-me w-what c-city t-this i-is?" I asked a nearby man who was mucking around with some kind of net, and without looking up, he grunted "London."

Right, so I was in London. Okay, maybe England messed up on the location a little bit. No big deal. I could call my parents and figure something out. It wasn't this cold nor this far along into winter at England's house, so I definitely wasn't in _Hetalia_ anymore, at the very least.

I looked a little closer at the man fiddling with the nets, and noticed with a deep and growing sense of foreboding that he was dressed _way_ out of date, as had been all of the people that I'd seen from the river. "What's with the getup? I mean, what _year_ do you think it _is?"_ I asked him suspiciously, the little voice in the back of my head trying desperately to allay my suspicious. Maybe I'd been dropped into the middle of some LARP thing or a movie set. Maybe today was some sort of holiday in England where everybody dressed like they were from an older time.

The man finally put down his net and gave me a disgruntled look.

"Look bird, what year do you think it is? It's 1888, as everyone knows."

1888.

_1888._

_**1888.** _

"ENGLAND YOU SON OF A BITCH, YOU GOT IT WRONG! AGAIN!"

* * *

**To be continued, in Black Butler...**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-Posted: February 7th, 2020, 7.07 PM USA Central Time  
> Originally Posted: November 14th, 2015, USA Central Time

**Author's Note:**

> I usually will just put a timestamp at the end of these, since that's what I do to keep track of myself everywhere, but I may sometimes pop in with spoilery author's notes.
> 
> Cross-Posted: February 3rd, 2020, 9.19 PM USA Central Time


End file.
